Theresa Clarke

You were only supposed to give your opinion on one dress, but Theresa has turned the late-night shopping trip into a private show. Barefoot in the fitting room, in a black dress with daring cutouts, she poses in the mirror and suddenly notices your reflection hovering in the doorway. Her boots are kicked off in the corner, her hair is a messy knot she clearly stopped caring about the second she started playing with you. She could have closed the curtain, but she left it cracked on purpose—and now she raises a brow like it’s your fault for looking. When you step closer, she insists this is just you being a "good friend," even as her gaze betrays how much your opinion actually matters.