Straight Jacket Novels & Stories

Whoever selected these knew exactly what would fit, what would suit me—knew my measurements down to the fraction of an inch. I dress quickly, conscious of Riku waiting outside the bathroom door. The clothes slide against my skin like they were made for me—which, I suspect, they were. The jeans hug every curve without restricting movement, the tank top skims my torso without clinging uncomfortably. When I shrug into the leather jacket, it settles on my shoulders with perfect weight, the sleeves ending precisely at my wrists. I feel simultaneously protected and exposed, wrapped in leather that carries the club's subtle insignia on one shoulder.

Suits in shades of black, navy, and charcoal lined one side, each one perfectly tailored. I ran my fingers over the fabric of a charcoal-gray suit jacket. It felt like liquid under my skin, softer than anything I’d ever touched. The label read: Kiton. I pulled another out. Cesare Attolini. Stefano Ricci. Each piece spoke of exclusivity and luxury.

XERXES I shifted in my seat, suppressing a groan as my fingers drummed against the polished arm of the chair. Gold embroidery gleamed on the sleeves of my ceremonial jacket, catching the dim candlelight, while the heavy, royal-blue fabric weighed on my shoulders like a boulder. This suit was made to command attention, crafted from the finest velvet and adorned with intricate golden designs that reflected my family’s standing. But right now, it felt like a straitjacket.

Simple things that make the day feel organized before it even begins. When I step out of the bathroom, a thin layer of steam follows me into the room. I wrap a towel around my hair and walk over to the wardrobe. My uniform waits there. Dark pants. A structured jacket. The badge that marks me as part of the system. I love it. I put it on slowly, smoothing the fabric into place. The material is stiff at first but loosens as I move. By the time I finish buttoning the jacket, I already feel like I’ve stepped into the role I wear every day.

Just for a second, I catch a glimpse of it. A sleeve. Not the rolled-up forearm I’ve gotten used to. Not the usual hairy knuckles, grease-stained wrists, or chewed-up nails of the guy who usually drops my “meals” like he’s feeding a lion through a slot at the zoo. No. This one's a jacket. Sleek, dark, and tailored. There’s a crisp and pressed white cuff poking out from underneath it. And then… something else. A mark. I freeze. Scar? No.

I stood from my seat, speaking to no one in particular as I straightened my black jacket. The jacket itself was another annoyance. It was itchy and uncomfortable, suffocating, unlike my fighting leathers. The gold embellishments were also tacky. Everything about this was restricting. But in a world of royals, you dressed nice, smiled when necessary and only showed the people what they wanted to see.

He was no longer afraid to tell her his story. Tara stood before the full-length mirror as she fixed the last of the row of tiny buttons on the front of the jacket of the royal blue walking suit Joshua produced. She was completely mesmerized by her reflection. Joshua said he’d commissioned the outfit for her just before he left for Virginia, but it arrived too late and hung in the wardrobe awaiting his return. She found his concern that it still be in fashion touching and his delight that it fit her like a glove embarrassing. The bustle at the rear of the jacket and matching over skirt provided a distinctive silhouette while the black jacket, over skirt hem, and oversized sleeves balanced o

His face straightened and he stiffened, stepping away from Shaun and dropping his hand from her arm. She looked over her shoulder and caught sight of Jozef, making his way through a crowd of people toward her. She turned to watch him approach, absorbing everything about him. His long graceful steps, smooth and confident. He was wearing tailored suit pants but instead of a suit jacket he was wearing his leather jacket. The collar was open at his tattooed throat and he wore no tie. She couldn't help herself, her gaze trailed up and down his body, lingering on his strong hands and the cords of his throat, where the tiny scar became visible as he approached.

It was a stylish leather jacket that he thought would not only keep her warm but also make her feel more confident and empowered. Claus approached Mia with the jacket in hand, a soft smile on his lips. "Mia, I got this for you." Mia's tired eyes lit up with curiosity as she looked at the jacket. "What's this, Claus?" Claus draped the leather jacket over Mia's shoulders and gently zipped it up. The material felt sleek against her skin, and the fit was perfect. He stepped back to admire how she looked in it. "It's a gift," Claus explained with a warm smile. "I thought it would suit you, and, well, it's always nice to have something to keep you warm."

“What do you need?” I described the jacket to her - the rich fabric, the intricate stitching, the unique design. I even mentioned how I’d noticed it in my office the day before, distracted by the faint scent of his cologne clinging to it. My face heated at the memory, and I shook my head to banish the thought. Olivia’s gasp pulled me back to reality. “Arlene, are you serious?” “What?” I asked, my irritation mounting. “Do you have any idea what you’re talking about? That’s not just a jacket. That’s the jacket! There’s only one like it in America. It’s a limited-edition piece from a brand so exclusive that even billionaires have to get on a waiting list.”