My Fiancée Married My Sister

Chapter 7

I woke up on Diana's couch with my phone already buzzing on the coffee table. Diana was in the kitchen, clinking plates. "Morning. I made breakfast. You are not going to the studio on an empty stomach. Eat first, then we face that mess."

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The announcement from yesterday still sat heavily in my chest. "I need to go now, Di. Before they change the locks or move everything. That place still has my mood boards, the pattern collections, and the client files I did as help for free.” I went silent for a while and scoffed. “I built that studio space."

Diana brought over eggs and toast, sitting across from me. "Fine. But I am driving you. And if Ryan or his assistant gives you trouble, I will handle it. You signed that paper three years ago thinking it was nothing probably a formality. Now it might bite you."

I ate quickly, the food tasting like paper. "I remember signing it. Ryan said it was standard for the company and to protect the brand. I trusted him. I was the one designing the branding for the first collection anyway. Patterns that made the clothes sell. Wholesale strategy ideas I sketched late at night. All while he took the meetings."

We finished and headed out. The drive to the studio felt too short. My hands stayed steady this time, but the decided feeling from yesterday pushed me forward. Diana parked outside the building. "I am coming in with you… for moral support."

Inside, the studio looked the same. Bright lights, big tables, fabrics stacked neatly in my space, or what I thought was mine. Ryan's assistant, a tall woman named Carla with sharp glasses, looked up from her desk when we walked in.

"Jasmine," Carla said, standing up. "I heard. Everyone did… The announcement. I am sorry about how it happened."

I walked straight to the back table where my mood boards hung. "Sorry does not get me my things. I came to collect what I built here. The patterns, the client files, and the sketches for the new capsule collection."

Carla shifted on her feet, looking uncomfortable. "About that. Ryan left instructions. Per the IP agreement you signed three years ago, the design work belongs to Lancaster Corp with all the mood boards, pattern collections, and client files you developed as help. They are the company's property."

I stopped pulling a board down and turned to her. "Company's property? I signed that thinking it was a formality. Ryan said it was standard and to protect the ideas while I worked here... I stayed up until two a.m. many nights here. Redesigned entire collections."

Carla held up a folder. "I have a copy. You signed it. Everything created in this space for Lancaster falls under the agreement. I am sorry, Jasmine. I liked working with you. Your patterns always made the clothes better and clients asked for your input specifically."

Diana stepped forward. "She developed those for free as help and built the branding from the ground up. The first collection aesthetic was all her. Now you are saying she walks away with nothing?"

"Not nothing," Carla replied, glancing at me. "You can take personal items, but the work files stay. Ryan said to box what is allowed."

I folded my arms, feeling the rage under my calm again. "Allowed? I turned down a Parsons scholarship for this. For him. For the company. I created the framework. The strategies. Late nights while he handled the charm part. And now because I signed without reading every line, it all belongs to them?"

Carla nodded slowly. "Three years ago. You were engaged. You trusted him and I get it. But legally, it is theirs. I can let you take one box of personal sketches. The rest has to stay."

"One box?" I repeated, my voice rising a bit. "I poured hundreds of hours here. Mood boards with fabrics I sourced. Pattern collections for plus-sized lines that celebrated bodies like mine. Client files where I fixed their wholesale issues for free because I believed in the brand. Ava is pregnant with his baby and now this?"

Carla looked down. "I know it is messy. The announcement made it public. People at the office are talking and tagging you in comments. It's not nice. But my job is to follow what Ryan said."

Diana jumped in. "Your job should not include robbing the person who actually built this place. Jasmine, show her the sketch for the new neckline. The bold one you finished the night you walked in on them. Four hundred hours on that wedding dress alone. That was yours."

I pulled out one sketch from a drawer, the sweeping neckline I drew at midnight. "This. I redesigned it because I decided I am done making myself smaller. For Ryan. For my mom. For anyone. And now I cannot even take my own work?"

Carla examined it but shook her head. "Beautiful work. Your eye is special. Warm brown skin, expressive eyes, and the way you see clothes. But it was created here. For the company. One box, Jasmine. I will help you pack it."

We spent the next hour going through drawers. I picked the most personal sketches. A few fabric samples I bought myself. Notes from client meetings where my ideas saved deals. Carla watched, sometimes adding a comment.

"You mentored a few juniors here," she said at one point. "They loved your patterns and said you made fashion accessible. Not just for certain bodies but for celebrating curves like yours. I wish it did not end like this."

"It is not ending," I told her, folding a mood board carefully into the box. "But this feels like theft. I signed because I loved him and gave completely. Now my sister gets the man and the company keeps my ideas."

Diana taped the box shut. "One box. After everything. Ryan is weak. Charming but could not face you himself and sent his assistant. Your mom probably approved this move."

Carla handed me the box. "I am truly sorry, Jasmine. If things change, maybe. But right now, this is it."

I took the box, feeling how light it was compared to years of work. "Tell Ryan I came. Tell him one box is not enough. Tell Ava the family meeting words still echo. So I'm stepping aside graciously like my life was disposable."

We walked out. The box felt heavy in my arms even if it was small. Diana opened the car trunk. "One box. That is what they left you with… after you built the whole aesthetic identity."

I got in the passenger seat, setting the box on my lap. "I did not read the agreement carefully enough, trusted him completely. Now I leave with this. Mood boards, I can recreate maybe. But the client files? The patterns they will use without me?"

Diana started the car. "You will recreate better. Your talent is yours. The capsule collection. Plus-sized women who want to take up space boldly. That is your next step. Not this."

The drive back to her place was quiet at first. Then I started talking. "In the studio, I remembered every late night. Fixing draping issues. Sourcing fabrics that worked for different bodies. Clients thanking me for making them feel seen. Ryan took the credit in meetings and I let him because I loved him."

"You see now," Diana said. "He loved what you produced. Not you fully.”

I nodded, holding the box tighter. "One box. That is what I get. Public announcement yesterday. Humiliation from comments. Today this. What is next? Moving my stuff to your place permanently?"

We pulled up to her building. Diana helped carry the box inside. "Yes. Stay as long as you need. We will unpack this. Plan your own thing. Reed designs or something. Your name. Your rules."

Inside, I set the box on the table and opened it. Sketches spilled out. The bold neckline one on top. I touched it. "I'm done making myself smaller. That is what I thought when I drew this. Now I have to live it. With one box of my life."

Diana sat beside me. "One box is a start. Not the end. You are the brilliant one, the pattern maker, and the fashion designer with vision. They cannot take that."

We talked for a long time. Sorting the sketches and remembering details. The way clients reacted to my work. How I turned Ryan from nobody to someone with a real company, the family cruelties, mom's words, and Ava's silence.

But as evening came, the weight settled. One box, the studio gone, my intellectual property locked away, and the announcement still making rounds online.

What would I do tomorrow? Job applications or Portfolio work? Geez! How does someone even rebuild when everything feels taken?

The decided feeling pushed against the ache. But the questions would not stop. How much more would they try to take?