My sister mocked my "cheap" funeral dress in front of a room full of mourners and called me an embarrassment to the Hale family.
She had no idea that the dress she was insulting cost thirty thousand dollars, that I owned the luxury fashion label she was modeling for, or that her termination letter had already been signed hours earlier. What happened next... was how I made every single one of them pay.
The church was heavy with grief—our father's casket at the front, the air filled with murmured condolences—when my sister, Victoria Hale, decided it was the perfect opportunity to humiliate me.
“Elena, seriously?” she said, loud enough to silence three pews. “Did you take that dress out of a thrift store? You’re embarrassing us all.”
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A blush crept up my neck. My mother looked away. Our aunts froze. Victoria grinned, drawing attention. She always loved to position herself as the superior Hale sister. To her, I was the simple one. The forgetful one. The one she had outshone since childhood.
She had no idea how wrong she was.
No one in that church knew the truth:
The "cheap" black dress she ridiculed was a thirty-thousand-dollar prototype.
Its design was unpublished, unseen, unreleased.
And I personally approved the final pattern.
Because I was the silent founder and sole owner of HÉLOISE – the luxury brand whose campaigns had transformed Victoria into a minor industry favorite.
For five years, she flaunted her title as one of our “faces.” She belittled junior designers, yelled at stylists, and mocked anyone she considered subordinate. She never once imagined that the girl she ridiculed the most—me—was the one who had built the entire company from the ground up.
But when she insulted me at our father's funeral—the man who raised us with nothing but patience and kindness—something inside me changed. Something snapped cleanly, like a thread that had been pulled too tight for too long.
Earlier that morning, before I stepped into the church, I had signed a document:
Victoria's immediate resignation.
And that was just the beginning.
As the ceremony ended and people poured into the reception hall, Victoria ran ahead of the crowd, accepting condolences as applause. Little did she know that every campaign she starred in, every photo shoot she posed for, every lookbook she bragged about… would soon be erased from our brand’s future plans.
I waited until she had parted ways with a champagne flute – completely inappropriate at a funeral, but perfectly “Victoria”.
“Elena,” she said, not bothering to look at me. “Try not to portray the Hale family as a thrift store tragedy next time.”
I inhaled slowly. “Victoria, regarding your contract—”
“My contract?” she snorted. “Please. You know nothing about fashion. Just stay in whatever office job you have.”
“My job in the office cubicle?” I repeated with a smile.
Before she could continue, Daniel—the operations manager whose name she had never bothered to give—came forward.
“Ms. Hale,” he said, addressing me with professional respect. “The legal department has confirmed your signature. Her termination will be made public at noon.”
Victoria blinked. "Dismissal? Whose dismissal?"
Daniel held her gaze. “Yours, Miss Hale.”
She laughed out loud. “You’re kicking me? Do you know who I am? HÉLOISE needs—”
“HÉLOISE,” Daniel said calmly, “belongs to her.”
He nodded in my direction.
Victoria's champagne glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. She turned pale, her lips barely forming the words:
"You… own HÉLOISE?"
“I built it,” I said softly. “Every stitch. Every campaign. Every job you ever bragged about.”
The room had gone silent. Relatives stared, whispers spread like wildfire. Even my mother stood nervously, unsure of whose side to take.
Victoria came closer, her voice trembling. "You planned this. You were waiting to humiliate me."
“No,” I replied. “You humiliated yourself. I just stopped protecting you.”
Her perfect world began to crack right there among the funeral flowers.
And I was nowhere near finished.
Within 24 hours, the fashion world received a discreet but unmistakable announcement:
Victoria Hale was no longer affiliated with HÉLOISE.
Her sponsorship – secured solely thanks to our brand – was immediately called into question. Some partners pulled out right away. Others didn't even bother to call.
By day three, she showed up at my apartment door, with smeared mascara and crushed pride.
“Elena… please. We are sisters. You can’t ruin my career.”
“I didn’t destroy it,” I said. “You burned every bridge yourself. I just refuse to rebuild them for you.”
“I’ll change my mind,” she whispered desperately. “Just give me one more chance.”
I thought about our father.
I thought about every designer she berated, every assistant she mistreated, every family moment she poisoned.
She had been given hundreds of chances.
“You need to learn humility,” I told her. “Losing your job is just the beginning.”
And then I closed the door.
In the weeks that followed, my extended family struggled to find the right position—cousins who had mocked me now praised me, aunts who had adored Victoria suddenly claimed they “always knew she had problems.”
I did not seek revenge on them.
Their guilt was punishment enough.
Victoria eventually found small modeling jobs—local, modest, far from the glamour she once flaunted. She had become quieter. Softer. Human again.
I myself continued to expand HÉLOISE and invested in friendly people with real talent – the opposite of everything she once represented.
Maybe one day I'll tell this story to the world.
But for now, I ask you:
Did Elena go too far...or was justice finally served?