Our First Fight

Kristen’s fixing her face in the bathroom when the door flies open and Jane storms in. Both women look lethal—black dresses cut tight, lipstick still wet. Jane slows down, eyes running up Kristen like a hungry cat. “Damn, that dress… you look insane.” Then she tilts her head. Something clicks. The dress fits like it was made for her—because it was. She tugs the tag, finds her own initials sewn in. “You stole it.” Kristen tries the ‘old-closet’ lie, but Jane’s already tugging at the hem. “Give it back.” Kristen plants her feet. “No.” Jane grabs harder. Fabric strains. The shove turns into a grapple and they topple onto the bed, legs kicking, nails scraping. Jane peels the dress up, breath hot on Kristen’s throat. The silk finally tears free and Kristen collapses, chest heaving. “It’s yours, okay? I just wanted to feel good for once.” Jane sits astride her, holding the crumpled dress like a trophy. “You looked filthy hot in it. You could’ve just said it was mine.” Kristen’s voice drops, shaky. “I’m sorry.” Jane’s smile turns sharp. “Prove it. Cancel whatever you had. Stay here. We’ll stay in… and I’ll show you what this dress really owes me.”