Angela Dress Up
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Angela’s closet exploded into chaos as she yanked dresses off hangers, fabrics shimmering under the harsh bedroom light. She cursed under her breath—too formal, too flashy, too *last year*. Finally, a slinky crimson number caught her eye: sleek, daring, with a slit that promised trouble. She wiggled into it, nearly toppling over as she wrestled the zipper up. Makeup became a battlefield—eyeliner smudged, mascara clumped, until she growled and wiped it all clean, starting fresh with smoky shadow and a bold red lip that matched the dress. Jewelry? *Subtlety be damned.* She layered chunky silver cuffs, slipped on stilettos sharp enough to stab regrets, then paused. The mirror reflected a stranger—confident, dangerous, electric. A flicker of doubt surfaced: *What if she’s there?* Angela crushed the thought, spritzed perfume like armor, and grabbed her keys. Let the games begin.
