A November drizzle cast a gray hue over the ancient cemetery in Newport. The marble tombstones were damp and cold, like the hearts of those standing around Aunt Margaret's grave.
I, Elena Vance, stood back, beneath the bare branches of an old oak tree. I wore a simple, minimalist, long-sleeved, high-necked black dress. No jewelry, no elaborate makeup. I simply wanted to be there to say goodbye to the only person in the Vance family who had ever treated me like a human being.
In the front row, under the large black umbrellas held by the driver, were my mother—Catherine—and my sister, Victoria.
Victoria was the epitome of glamour. She was a rising Instagram model, with platinum blonde hair and a perfect figure. Today, she wore a black lace Dolce & Gabbana dress, its high slit so revealing it was inappropriate for a funeral, and Chanel sunglasses to hide her eyes, which showed not a single tear.
When the ceremony ended, everyone moved back to the family mansion for tea. I intended to sneak away, but Victoria's sharp voice stopped me.
“Oh, look who it is,” Victoria took off her sunglasses, a smirk playing on her lips. “Our long-lost sister. Elena, you actually dare show your face here?”
My mother turned around, scrutinizing me from head to toe with her familiar, scrutinizing gaze.
“Elena,” she said, her voice cold. “I thought you weren't coming home. And… what's that on you?”
Victoria stepped forward, circling me like a shark stalking its prey. She reached out and touched my sleeve, then recoiled as if she'd touched something dirty.
“Oh my God,” Victoria laughed loudly, drawing the attention of all the relatives and guests. “Where did you buy that sack? Goodwill or Target? Look at the fabric, how wrinkled and rough it is. Are you here for Aunt Margaret's funeral or to apply for a cleaning job?”
The crowd began to murmur. Giggles erupted.
“You're right,” a distant relative chimed in. “It looks so… cheap. A disgrace to the Vance family. Years of running away from home, and now they're back still penniless.”
I stood still, clutching my handbag. I had left this house five years ago with nothing, unable to bear their oppression and contempt. I had sworn never to return. But Aunt Margaret was gone, and I owed her a final farewell.
“This dress is very comfortable,” I said softly. “And it suits the solemn atmosphere.”
“Dignified?” Victoria shrieked, pointing to her revealing lace dress. “This is class! This is fashion! And your rag is an insult to my aunt's spirit. Can't you afford a decent outfit? Or should I give you some of my old clothes?”
My mother sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. “Come on, Victoria. She's used to living like a coward. Don't bring shame to the family any further. Elena, go sit in the kitchen and grab something to eat; don't linger in the living room and annoy the guests.”
To the kitchen. Like a dog.
I looked at the two women in front of me. My patience, something I'd cultivated during my five years of struggling in New York, suddenly evaporated.
I smiled. A slight smile, but enough to make Victoria freeze in confusion.
“Okay,” I said. “But before I go, let's talk a little about fashion, Victoria?”
“You want to talk about fashion with me?” Victoria scoffed. “You? Someone who can't tell the difference between cotton and polyester?”
“Which brand are you modeling for?” I asked, my voice calm.
Victoria's face lit up with self-satisfaction. “Oh, I forgot you don't have internet. I just signed an exclusive contract to be the face of E.V. Atelier. It's the hottest ‘Silent Luxury' brand in New York right now. The owner is a mysterious genius; they say she's so picky she only chooses one model out of thousands of applications.”
“E.V. Atelier,” I nodded. “I've heard of it.”
“Of course,” Victoria retorted. “One of their shirts costs $2,000. And your ragged dress probably isn't worth $20.”
I walked closer to Victoria. I ran my hand over the lapel of the black dress I was wearing.
“Victoria,” I said, my voice low enough for everyone in the room to hear. “You're a fashion model, but your knowledge of fabrics is disappointing.”
“What?”
“This dress,” I looked down at my outfit. “It's not made of cotton or polyester. It's hand-woven from 100% Vicuña.”
Some of the discerning guests in the room gasped. Vicuña – “God's Silk” – the world's most expensive wool, harvested in small quantities from wild Andean llamas every three years.
“Vicuña?” Victoria stammered. “You're lying! It looks so black and rough…”
“That's the Sumi-e dyeing technique using ancient Japanese bamboo charcoal ink to create depth in the black color, preventing it from reflecting flashlights and ensuring absolute privacy for the wearer,” I explained fluently. “And these seams…”
To
I pointed to the neckline.
“…It's the Blind Stitch technique, hand-sewn, taking 200 hours of work by a master artisan in Milan.”
I looked directly into Victoria's eyes, who was starting to sweat.
“This is ‘The Midnight Mourning' dress. It's the only Bespoke dress in the world. And its actual value…”
I paused.
“…Is $32,000. Not including tax.”
Silence fell over the large living room. My mother dropped her sherry glass onto the carpet.
“$32,000?” Victoria hissed. “Where did you get the money? Did you steal it? Or are you a prostitute?”
“No,” I shook my head. “I didn't need to buy it. I made it myself.”
“You made it?”
“Yes,” I walked to the tea table where Victoria had left her Hermes handbag. I pulled a jet-black business card from my wallet, its lettering embossed in solid gold.
I held it between my fingers, showing it to Victoria.
ELENA VANCE
Founder & Creative Director
E.V. ATELIER
Chapter 3: The Public Dismissal
Victoria stared at the business card as if she'd seen a ghost.
“E.V… Elena Vance…” she mumbled, her face drained of color. “Impossible… The mysterious boss of E.V. Atelier is… is you?”
“It is,” I asserted. “I left home, changed my middle name, and built my empire from scratch. I chose you as a model not because you're good. I chose you because I wanted to see if you would change. I hoped you would become more professional. But I was wrong.”
My mother rushed forward, her demeanor changing in a flash. “Elena! My darling daughter! I knew it! I knew you had a natural talent! Victoria, apologize to her!”
I raised my hand to stop her. “Stop the act, Mom. The curtain is over.”
I turned to Victoria, who was trembling.
“You just insulted my most cherished design right in front of potential clients,” I pointed to the elegant ladies in the room – who were looking at me with admiration instead of contempt. “You called E.V. Atelier's product ‘rags,' ‘cheap,' ‘a disgrace.'”
I pulled out my phone.
“According to Clause 4.2 of the brand endorsement contract you signed last week: ‘The brand ambassador must uphold the brand image and must not engage in any form of defamation of the product.'”
“Elena… I'm sorry…” Victoria began to cry, her makeup smudged. “I didn't know… I was just joking… Don't do that… That contract is worth half a million dollars…”
“It's not just about the money, sister,” I said coldly. “It's your career.”
I pressed the Send button on my phone.
Ding.
Victoria's phone vibrated. An email notification from E.V. Atelier's legal department.
“It's a dismissal letter,” I said. “Effective immediately. Reason: Serious breach of professional ethics and public defamation of the brand.”
“And there's more,” I continued, not giving her a chance to breathe. “Since you breached the contract, you will have to pay 200% of the signed contract value. That means you owe my company $1 million. The payment deadline is 30 days.”
Victoria collapsed to the floor, wailing hysterically.
“Mom! Save me! $1 million! Where am I going to get that money? I just bought the apartment on installments!”
My mother looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Elena, you can't do this to your sister. We're family!”
“Family?” I laughed bitterly. “Is family the kind of people who make me eat in the kitchen like a servant? Is family the kind of people who call me a disgrace?”
I looked around this magnificent but dilapidated mansion.
“Speaking of family,” I said to my mother. “Do you know who secretly bought the mortgage on this house when Dad died and left behind this huge debt?”
My mother's face turned pale. “It's… an anonymous investment fund…”
“It's me,” I said. “That fund is owned by E.V. Atelier. I've kept this house for my mother and sister for the past five years, even though they haven't paid a single cent in interest.”
“But today,” I looked at Victoria, weeping at my feet. “My generosity has run its course.”
Chapter 30: Stepping Out of the Darkness
I walked out the front door. It was still raining, but I didn't feel cold anymore.
“I'm giving you 30 days to move out,” I called back, without turning around. “I'm going to sell this house and use the money to set up a charity in Aunt Margaret's name. That's the only meaningful thing this family can do.”
“Elena! Don't go!” My mother's desperate scream echoed from behind.
I got into the sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom that my chauffeur had just driven up (I'd told him to park in a secluded corner to avoid attracting attention).
I settled into the plush leather back seat.
“Where are we going, madam?” the chauffeur asked.
“To New York,” I said, removing my hair clip and letting my long black hair fall down my shoulders. “I have a new collection to launch. The theme is: Rebirth.”
I looked out the window. Victoria was running after the car, barefoot, her dress disheveled, sobbing in the rain. She looked pathetic, a stark contrast to her earlier elegance.
I rolled up the window. The outside noise died down.
She had criticized my dress.
It was cheap. But she didn't know that the price of judging others by their appearance is sometimes more expensive than any designer item.
Today, I'm not just burying Aunt Margaret. I'm burying my bullied past.
And tomorrow, the world will know Elena Vance not as “the shameful younger sister,” but as the Queen of a new fashion empire.