Chapter 2: The Symbol Nobody Was Supposed to See
The man who had dropped his champagne glass was introduced as Mr. Harrison.
He was the chairman of the foundation hosting the gala.
Everyone seemed to know him.
My father had spent months trying to secure a meeting with him.
And now he was standing directly in front of me, staring at the silver crescent on my halo as if he had seen a ghost.
“Miss,” he said carefully, “what is your name?””
“Maya.””
“Maya what?””
“Bennett.””
His expression changed.
“Your mother's name?””
“Eleanor Bennett.””
The room became strangely quiet.
Mr. Harrison looked toward Vanessa.
“Richard's daughter?””
Vanessa immediately stepped forward.
“She's my husband's daughter. She's sixteen, and she's had a rather difficult evening.””
Mr. Harrison didn't look at her.
“I asked the girl a question.””
Vanessa's lips tightened.
I glanced between them.
“My mother was Eleanor Bennett,” I repeated.
“She died when I was nine.””
Mr. Harrison took a slow breath.
“Eleanor made this?””
He pointed toward my wings.
“No. I did.””
“But the symbol?””
“My mother used it on some of her designs. I found it in her old sewing room.””
His eyes moved to the silver crescent again.
“Does your father know you have this?””
I frowned.
“It's just a costume.””
“That's not what I asked.””
Before I could answer, Vanessa grabbed my elbow.
“That's enough. Maya, we're leaving.””
Mr. Harrison finally turned toward her.
“Take your hand off her.””
Vanessa released me.
A murmur passed through the guests.
She forced a smile.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison. She's been emotional tonight.””
“Emotional?”” he repeated.
He looked at the white wings on Brielle's back.
“Did you take those from her?””
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
“They were only borrowed.””
“Borrowed?””
I stared at her.
“You ripped them off me.””
Several guests gasped.
Brielle rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please. It's a pair of wings.””
Mr. Harrison looked at her.
“Then you won't mind returning them.””
Brielle's cheeks flushed.
“Mom, tell him.””
Vanessa placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder.
“We're not discussing this.””
But Mr. Harrison had already called one of the event coordinators.
“Please bring me the registration documents for the costume exhibition.””
Vanessa stiffened.
“What exhibition?””
He looked at me.
“Miss Bennett, did you submit your design?””
I nodded.
“Three weeks ago. Through the foundation's young artists program.””
He turned toward the coordinator.
“Find her application.””
Vanessa laughed nervously.
“Surely there's been some mistake. Maya doesn't have any professional training.””
“I taught myself,” I said.
Mr. Harrison looked at me again.
“Did your mother teach you?””
I hesitated.
“Yes.””
His expression softened.
“Then she would be proud.””
The coordinator returned with a tablet.
Mr. Harrison read the information on the screen.
Then he looked up.
“Interesting.””
“What?”” Vanessa asked.
“Your daughter has been nominated for the young designer award.””
Vanessa blinked.
“My daughter?””
“Miss Maya Bennett.””
Brielle's mouth opened.
“That can't be right.””
Mr. Harrison scrolled down.
“Her entry was submitted under the name Eleanor's Wings.””
I felt something tighten in my chest.
That was the name I had given the costume.
Mr. Harrison nodded slowly.
“Your mother once submitted a design with the same title.””
I stared at him.
“You knew my mother?””
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he asked the coordinator to bring a particular file from the foundation office.
Vanessa suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“Mr. Harrison, perhaps this conversation would be better held privately.””
“Why?””
“Because Maya doesn't understand the history.””
I turned toward her.
“What history?””
Vanessa's eyes flashed.
“Stop asking questions.””
Mr. Harrison noticed her reaction.
“Mrs. Bennett, why does this seem to upset you?””
“It doesn't.””
“Then I assume you won't object to the documents being brought here.””
Vanessa said nothing.
A few minutes later, the coordinator returned with a thick folder.
Mr. Harrison opened it carefully.
Inside were photographs of elaborate costumes, sketches, old competition certificates, and several handwritten letters.
He pulled out one photograph.
A woman with dark hair stood beside a pair of enormous white wings.
My mother.
I recognized her smile immediately.
“That's her,” I whispered.
Mr. Harrison handed me the photograph.
“Your mother designed those wings for our foundation's first charity gala. They became the symbol of our annual young artists program.””
I ran my fingers over the edge of the picture.
“She never told me.””
“She was a remarkable designer,” he said.
“And she was supposed to become our creative director.””
I looked up.
“What happened?””
Mr. Harrison's eyes moved toward Vanessa.
Before he could answer, Vanessa interrupted.
“Eleanor left the industry years ago. It's irrelevant.””
“Did she?”” Mr. Harrison asked.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“She had other priorities.””
Mr. Harrison turned another page.
“That's strange. According to these records, she was scheduled to receive the foundation's largest design grant the year she died.””
My stomach dropped.
“What grant?””
“An inheritance-style creative trust. It was established in her name and intended for her child.””
He looked at me.
“Which means you.””
I couldn't speak.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“That's impossible.””
Mr. Harrison closed the folder.
“Why would it be impossible?””
“Because Eleanor never completed the necessary paperwork.””
He studied her.
“I'm looking at her signed documents.””
The room fell silent.
Brielle reached for Vanessa's hand.
“Mom?””
Vanessa didn't respond.
I looked at the papers.
“Does this mean my mother left me something?””
Mr. Harrison nodded.
“Potentially something very substantial. I will need to verify the current trustees and the legal history.””
Vanessa's face had gone pale.
My father finally appeared beside us.
“What's going on?””
He looked at Mr. Harrison, then at the folder.
“Richard,” Mr. Harrison said.
“I think we need to discuss Eleanor.””
My father stopped moving.
For a moment, he looked genuinely frightened.
Then he glanced at me.
“Maya, go wait outside.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“Maya.””
“Why does everyone keep telling me to leave whenever someone mentions Mom?””
My father lowered his voice.
“This isn't the place.””
Mr. Harrison closed the folder.
“Actually, Richard, I think it is.””
He removed a final document.
It was an old letter, folded twice, with my mother's handwriting across the front.
My name was written beneath the address.
*To my daughter, Maya.*
I reached for it.
Vanessa moved faster.
She snatched the letter from the folder.
“That's private!””
Mr. Harrison's voice hardened.
“Put it down.””
Vanessa held it against her chest.
My father looked at her.
“Vanessa, what are you doing?””
She stared at the letter as though it were dangerous.
May you like
Then she said something that made my blood turn cold.
“Richard, you promised me this would never come up again.””
