Serena’s POV
Life had been floating along beautifully. Ryan was neck-deep in wedding preparations, handling most details while I focused on my Dreamland Studio ventures with Maya. All I had to do was make occasional decisions when the wedding planner called, then return to my blissful bubble with Vivian.
It was just another ordinary morning. I’d finished breakfast and was getting Vivian ready for our daily walk in Central Park when my phone started vibrating against the marble counter.
"Maya," I answered, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder while buckling Vivian into her stroller. "What’s up?"
The silence on the other end lasted a second too long. "Serena, we have a situation."
My hand froze on the buckle. Maya didn’t do drama or panic - her voice carrying that edge meant real trouble.
"Someone’s accusing you of plagiarism online. It’s spreading fast."
The words hit me like ice water. "Plagiarism? Who’s making these claims?"
"Some European designer I’ve never heard of. They’ve posted comparison photos showing designs nearly identical to your spring collection. The problem is—" Maya hesitated, "—their publication dates are slightly earlier than ours."
My stomach dropped. "That’s impossible. Those designs came directly from my sketchbook."
"I know that. I’ve already called the crisis management team. They’re monitoring the situation, but it’s gaining traction quickly."
I abandoned the stroller and paced across my kitchen, mind racing. "Let me contact this designer myself. There must be some misunderstanding."
"Already tried," Maya sighed heavily. "Their team is refusing direct communication. This feels calculated, Serena. Like they were waiting for the perfect moment to strike."
Maya’s typing echoed through the phone. "Look, I’ve got the PR team working overtime, but you should see what’s happening online. It’s getting ugly."
After hanging up, I kissed Vivian’s forehead and asked the nanny to take over our park plans. Then I locked myself in Ryan’s home office, hands trembling slightly as I opened his laptop.
My name was everywhere, paired with that toxic word: PLAGIARISM.
"This is ridiculous," I whispered, clicking through the accusations.
The designer—someone named Lance Draven—had created side-by-side comparisons highlighting similarities between our collections. I had to admit, seeing them together was jarring. The color schemes, certain structural elements, even some of the embellishment patterns showed undeniable parallels.
But I knew with absolute certainty I’d never seen his work before creating mine.
The timestamp on his posts predated my collection reveal by three days. Three. Fucking. Days.
I dove deeper into his profile, examining his previous work. There were definite stylistic similarities to my aesthetic, but his execution lacked the technical refinement I’d spent years perfecting. He wasn’t well-known, but his social media following wasn’t tiny either.
The perfect profile for a sympathy-grabbing David versus Goliath narrative.
His post dripped with calculated victimhood: "Famous designer Lazuli plagiarized my work, transforming it into Dreamland Studio’s ’original’ collection while I remain the voiceless victim of corporate theft."
The comments section was a cesspool:
"Unknown designers create masterpieces that get ignored until some celebrity steals them for profit. DISGUSTING."
"Do famous designers think they can get away with anything? Stand your ground, Lance!"
"Serena’s success was always suspicious. Sleeping your way to the top and stealing designs—classic."
"Lazuli’s work is overrated anyway. Now we know why."
I slammed the laptop shut, my chest tight with anger. "Fucking vultures," I hissed, reopening it to send him a direct message.
[Hello Lance, this is Serena. There’s clearly a misunderstanding regarding plagiarism accusations. I’d appreciate discussing this privately to resolve the issue.]
[I categorically deny copying your work. I’m open to any legitimate verification process to prove this.]


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