Suitcase Character Novels & Stories

His, she knew, was the most expensive and luxurious amongst the hello kitty bags and her red ordinary suitcase. After making her point, she moved further away from him and drew the safety restraint over her lap, once again attracting his attention to a place it shouldn't be. "But I didn't see you there?" He asked. "Well, I was in a Paw Patrol costume." Yes, it was bloody hot in that airtight costume that made her sweat all over. And, yes, she remembered the man who gave their Mother Seniora a sizable donation without even mentioning his name. He just left and forgot the suitcase, and an hour later, her so-called mini skirt secretary came and retrieved the suitcase.

Seeing what the black spot was, Ethan Brooks was overjoyed! Surprisingly, it's a suitcase! Ethan Brooks took it in his arms, the suitcase was water-proof or it might have sunk, Ethan Brooks swam back easily by its buoyancy. The mute girl was also instantly overjoyed to see the suitcase. It's a black suitcase, not very fancy, but with a decent capacity. Ethan Brooks and the mute girl couldn't close their mouths around the suitcase, it was almost like they were facing a treasure. "By the way, you found out that I'm swimming, and this should be considered a collaboration, so how do we split it up?"

He asked her, laughing,pointing to the suitcase. "Oh please!" She simply replied. He took the suitcase from her and found that it was quite heavy. Funny how she thought she could manage both this and the mattress, he smoked to himself, with such elegant high heels and a straight skirt too. It wasn't the right type of clothes for weightlifting at all. He was still smiling as they walked out through the gates, silently considering each other. Outside the hostel security gate, the girl pointed to a grey Bentley. A Chauffeur, clad in blue lined French suit, came hurrying to take the mattress from her. He opened the door and both the suitcase and the mattress were throne on the back seat. Then th

Calculated. And then, he walks around the hood to open the car door for her. Éric never opens the car door for me. She gets out, pulls out a rolling suitcase. Not some old, shabby bag, no. A new, elegant model, camel leather. She adjusts it with a graceful hand gesture. Then she lifts her head. I finally see her clearly.

Her hand froze mid-butter. Damn it. Sebastian stood up, walked slowly across the room… and then stopped in the hallway. Where he saw it. The suitcase. Half open. Stuffed with clothes like it had been packed in panic. A pile of shoes by the door. Makeup in a tote. A passport lying casually on top. He turned his head, very slowly, like a villain in a spy film who just discovered the traitor. Then looked at her. She turned to face him, toast still in hand, and tried a sheepish smile.

“And why did you take my bag? If you wanted to borrow one of my shirts, all you had to do was ask.” I gave him a withering look. “This is my suitcase. See? That’s my name on the identification plate. Carolina Benedetti”. I pulled the name tag up just to show him. Christopher Hayworth F.uck. “You were saying?” His lips twitched. My cheeks heated. This was not a knockoff. This was a real top luxury brand suitcase. The bag was indeed his, and I made a fool of myself in front of him. “You’re right after all. Here, take it. Now, excuse me, I have to search for my own suitcase.” I said in one breath and ran back to the baggage claim area.

Cassidy’s POV I stood in the middle of my bedroom suite, feeling like a thief in my own house. The morning light poured through the tall, arched windows, casting long golden rays across the pristine white carpets, turning everything into a deceptive glow of warmth. But the room felt cold, sterile, like a museum exhibit of a life I no longer recognized. My suitcases lay open on the massive four-poster bed, their black leather exteriors gaping like hungry mouths, waiting to devour the remnants of my existence here. I’d been packing for what felt like an eternity—forty minutes, according to the antique clock on the mantel—but I’d only managed to fold exactly three sweaters. Soft cashmere in neu

He turned to Amanda, "May I take your suitcase, Miss Blackthorne?", he asked simply. "I'm Amanda, not Miss Blackthorne.", she corrected automatically. "And no, I'm fine", she added, holding on to her suitcase tightly. The butler merely nodded and gestured towards the staircase. Amanda climbed up the staircase behind her mother, slugging her suitcase up with her, but it was heavier than she had anticipated and it constantly kept getting stuck. She focused on moving it up each step instead, and so she didn't see the shadow approaching her and collided with it head on. Her suitcase clattered loudly to the floor. She stumbled back, her gaze jerked upward and met golden brown eyes that glinted wi

That love stays. But what if he's unlearning it right now? What if, alone in his black office, he's persuading himself that walking away was a mistake? Is love a weakness? That the boy who shoved a man to rescue a child was always destined to end up abandoned? I slam the book onto the chair and march into the bedroom. I yank my suitcase from the closet. The same battered suitcase I hauled from my apartment on Van Dyke, the one with the fractured wheel and the coffee stain shaped like Florida. I heave it onto the bed and gape at its empty guts.