The Red Sleeve Cuff Novels & Stories

A few loud gasps filled the air followed by numerous murmurs from the girls around us. She took another step towards me. “How dare you filthy garbage say—” Her remaining words trailed off as she raised her arm to hit me. Yet the next second, Riiip! The sharp sound of fabric tearing cut through the soft music. Everyone turned. Zirelle stiffly glanced down at her dress, her arm still hanging in the air. A long tear had opened beneath her arm, the fabric ripped from the side of her bodice and running downward along her waist, exposing her bare skin and the material beneath.

But she wasn't that mean and carefully started picking up. Finally, she picked a pair of square cufflinks embedded with broken diamonds. Chelsea put the cufflinks near Russell's sleeve. She looked up and asked, "How about this?" Russell looked at her bright eyes, and his heart softened. He slightly tilted his head and said lightly, "Alright." Then a male voice sounded from the side. "The cufflinks match Mr. Murillo's clothes so much. Mrs. Murillo has really good taste." Chelsea looked up and was quite surprised.

The collar was digging into Elena’s neck. She tried adjusting it for the third time, tugging at the stiff white collar, but the fabric just bit harder into her skin. The servant’s uniform for the Gala was different from the everyday one—still black and white, but fancier. The shirt had cuffs that scratched her wrists, the skirt was longer and heavier, and the whole thing felt like it was made to pinch and pull in all the wrong places. Like whoever designed it wanted to make sure the help looked neat and presentable but felt miserable the entire night.

Quickly, Selena opened the window side wide enough, flaked the silver color curtains to the sides, and waited for further instructions. “Come back in when I leave!” He said, and she hurried out immediately. “How are you feeling today?” He asked, but I kept quiet, staring at the long sleeve shirt he is wearing. It seemed this brand of sleeves, were made specially for his muscled chest. But it keeps struggling to stay intact against his chest no matter how many times I sees it.

It smelled of heavy dye and chemical starch. "The cuff is wrong," I muttered, jerking my left wrist. "It is rubbing the bone." The girl with the chalk spat it into her palm. "You are moving too much, Alpha. Keep your arm straight or the needle will catch you." She did not wait for me to agree. She yanked my sleeve down. The tip of a brass pin scraped my skin, leaving a sharp, stinging line. I did not flinch. I kept my arm out like wood. The second girl dropped three silk ties onto the table. They hit the dark timber with soft, heavy thuds. One navy. One blood red. One a dead, flat silver.

Large glass doors stayed open to let in the sound of the ocean. Damien pointed to a tall wooden stool. "Sit." I sat down and watched him. He unbuttoned two more buttons on his dress shirt. Then he unclipped his cuffs. He rolled the sleeves up slowly, tucking the fabric high on his arms. I couldn't look away. The movement showed off his thick, muscled forearms. His skin was covered in a full tattoo sleeve. The dark ink looked bold against his tan skin. I watched the muscles move as he reached for a knife.

The name sat heavy in my chest, carrying a history I'd had no part in and no warning about. I looked down at my sleeve. Ivory wool, pale and clean under the hallway light. White. It's always white. He likes to dress the truth up as something clean. Her voice wouldn't leave me. And the longer I looked at my own sleeve, the less it felt like something I'd chosen for myself. I had told myself the color was intentional — a message, a way of showing the family that we were united, solid, one thing instead of two. Armor, I'd thought.

His sleeves rolled up. His tie…missing.

The single-breasted jacket features a slender, modern cut that accentuates his trim physique. The crisp white dress shirt peeks out from beneath the suit jacket, emphasizing his refined style. The shirt is expertly tailored, with a slim fit that highlights his athletic build. It boasts a subtle herringbone pattern, adding a touch of texture and elegance. As he adorns his wrists, silver cufflinks catch the light, subtly reflecting his refined taste. Each cufflink is delicately engraved with an intricate design, showcasing his attention to even the smallest of details. The cufflinks exude an aura of sophistication, hinting at the refined nature of our protagonist.

~Soren~ The red blotch on my wrist looks more terrible in the daylight. I pull my hoodie sleeve down but it keeps riding up. I'm at the cafeteria with my friends when I feel the pull. I look up, and sure enough, there he is across the cafeteria with Marcus and Carter. He is laughing at something Marcus said, his head thrown back, and the sight does something unfortunate to my insides. He’s wearing a gray Henley today. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and in doing so, revealing his forearms, and I have to physically make myself not stare.