Rival Queens of the Catwalk
By the Masked Writer
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The air in Kat’s penthouse was thick with the heat of a New York summer night but the tension between them was heavier than the humidity. Outside, the city lights shimmered, but a war was about to start inside. Two of in-famous fashion models stood face to face, their long, willowy limbs trembling as much from the weight of their anger than from their sheer unfamiliarity with violence.
Kat was a portrait of high-fashion delicacy. She was tall, almost painfully thin, with the kind of skeletal elegance worshipped by designers. Her collarbones jutted sharply above the spaghetti straps of her ivory silk camisole, and her hip bones pressed against the waistband of her barely-there shorts. Flame-red hair tumbled down her back in loose waves, contrasting with her alabaster skin. Her green eyes, usually cool and calculating, burned with unchecked fury.
Chloe was her opposite in many ways but she, too, was a living mannequin, all elongated limbs and sharp angles. Golden blonde and sun-kissed, her long legs seemed endless beneath her frayed denim cutoffs. A tiny halter top clung to her wiry frame, the deep tan of her shoulders making her blue eyes look even icier. Where Kat was regal, Chloe looked wild—but neither had ever thrown a punch in their lives.
“You did what?” Kat whispered but her voice cut like a blade.
Chloe smirked, swirled her champagne, and set it down—clink. A sound as sharp as her grin.. “I took the Fendi campaign. And I made sure they knew exactly why they shouldn’t want you.”
Kat’s breath hitched. The Fendi contract—her lifeline, her future—gone. Just like that.
A sound escaped her—more than a gasp but not a growl yet. “You backstabbing bitch!”
Chloe’s grin was venomous. “Welcome to the real world, princess. No one stays on top forever.”
Kat moved.
Her slap was clumsy, her thin arm lacking real power, but her palm produced a sharp crack against Chloe’s cheek. Chloe staggered, more from shock than pain, her blue eyes widening before narrowing into slits.
Then she lunged.
Her fingers tangled in Kat’s red hair, yanking hard. Kat shrieked, her own hands flying up to claw at Chloe’s face, her nails leaving red streaks down her rival’s tanned cheek.
Kat twisted, her bony elbow jabbing into Chloe’s ribs.
Chloe gasped but didn’t release her grip. Instead, she shoved Kat backward, sending her crashing into a side table. A vase toppled, shattering on the floor, water soaking into Kat’s shorts as she scrambled to her knees.
Breathing hard, Chloe advanced, but Kat kicked out, her bare foot connecting with Chloe’s shin. The kick was weak. It wasn’t enough to stop her.
Chloe grabbed a decorative tray and swung. Kat ducked, but not quite fast enough. The edge of the massive glass tray clipped her shoulder, sending pain down her skinny arm.
Gritting her teeth, Kat launched herself forward, her weight ( about 115 pounds) knocking Chloe off-balance. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, their long legs kicking uselessly, their breaths already coming in ragged gasps.
Neither girl had stamina. Neither had strength. But they had hate.
Chloe rolled on top, pinning Kat’s wrists. Kat thrashed, her ribs heaving, her face flushed with exertion.
“You’re DONE,” Chloe hissed, her blonde hair sticking to her forehead.
Kat spat in her face.
Chloe recoiled—just enough for Kat to wrench free and punch her with enough force to split her own knuckle on Chloe’s teeth.
A whimper escaped Chloe, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she grabbed a fistful of Kat’s camisole and yanked, tearing the delicate fabric and revealing Kat’s small but firm breast.
Kat shrieked, more in outrage than pain, and retaliated by raking her nails down Chloe’s bare arm.
They rolled, scratched, slapped, their movements growing sloppier with exhaustion. A lamp crashed to the floor. A bottle dropped down from a table.
Finally, breathless, they pulled apart, exhausted, covered in bloody scratches, lips swollen, hair disheveled, utterly spent.
The air in Kat’s penthouse was thick with the heat of a New York summer night, but the tension between them was heavier than the humidity. Outside, the city lights shimmered, but a war had just ended inside.
Kat and Chloe lay gasping on the ruined marble floor, their once-pristine bodies now a mess of scratches, torn fabric, and smeared makeup. The fight had been vicious, clumsy, desperate—two thoroughbreds reduced to wild animals.
Chloe groaned, rolling onto her side, her golden hair matted with sweat. She tried to push herself up, but her arms trembled, giving out beneath her. Kat, though just as battered, wasn’t done yet.
With a ragged breath, she dragged herself forward, her nails scraping against the floor. Chloe’s eyes widened as Kat loomed over her, one hand fisting in her hair.
"You—lost," Kat panted, her split lip staining her teeth red.
Chloe thrashed, but she was spent. Kat’s grip tightened.
"Say it."
Chloe’s chest heaved, defiance flickering in her ice-blue eyes—but then it faded. Her shoulders slumped.
"You win."
Kat released her with a shove, staggering to her feet. Every muscle screamed in protest, but she stood tall, her spine straightening with the last of her strength.
"And you’re going to call Fendi," Kat said, her voice hoarse but steady. "You’re going to tell them you lied. That you sabotaged me. And then you’re going to walk away."
Chloe let out a bitter laugh, but there was no fight left in it. "Or what? You’ll hit me again?"
Kat wiped blood from her chin, then smirked. "No. Because next time, I won’t stop at scratches."
Silence.
Chloe looked away first.
Kat turned, limping toward the balcony, where the city glittered below. The Fendi campaign was hers again. The throne was still hers.
And Chloe?
She’d learn her place.
