Waist Pocketbook Novels & Stories

It was the last piece of Igor I had touched in private. I glanced at the heavy wardrobe, then the bedside table. No place was safe enough. I decided I had to keep it on me, hidden deep, a secret under the layers of the lie. I started tucking the locket into the small, hidden inner pocket of my waistcoat—the one designed for a watch fob, but rarely used now.

Mo Yuhan's brows bumped together as he looked at the manager, "Wrap it up. This is the perfect size for her." The manager: "_" Your highness, you should say it. How else would I know if I am supposed to wrap it up or not? The staff: "_" She? Just what kind of woman could make this man buy undergarments for her? ... Mo Yuhan walked inside the company while holding the lingerie brand XX bag and a slightly larger bag that had all kinds of sanitary pads but it was covered well.

It is heavy, weighing at least five pounds, completely protected from the damp coastal air by the thick oilcloth wrapping. I pull it out, setting it down carefully on a clean wooden bench just outside the closet door. Damien pulls his pocketknife from his coat, carefully slicing through the hemp twine. He folds back the layers of heavy oilcloth. Inside rest three bound leather account ledgers and a thick manila envelope sealed with red wax. I open the first ledger. The pages are covered in thin, precise handwriting, tracking off-the-books transactions dating back to 2016. My eyes scan the rows of numbers, names, and bank routing numbers.

She strolled to her closet and took her luggage out from the dusted wardrobe. She had packed a few clothes in her luggage and squeezed some cash and her phone into her LV Palm Springs backpack. She had also taken her Cartier bracelet and Bvlgari necklace with her. These were her babies and she was not ready to give them up.

There were several connecting doors on the left and right sides, the right door connecting Sebastian to his secret office, while the left door led to the wardrobe, bathroom, and other areas. As she walked towards the wardrobe, Tera found the pink wallet that Sebastian had mentioned earlier. The wallet bore the logo of a well-known brand and was lying on the bedside table, next to one of the leather bags that had the same brand. It was an expensive crocodile leather bag. The bag had a captivating combination of cream and brown colors. Just by looking at the brand logo and its quality, Tera could immediately guess that the price of both items was outrageous. Tera didn't bother to find out the

and bailed out. The pungent scent of pot smoke wafted out of Mike’s truck as Brandt opened the door. A roach clip dangled from the rearview mirror, weighted with feathers and skinny strips of leather. He pushed aside food wrappers and empty beer cans until he found a small bright orange fanny pack. Since he’d forgotten to ask specifics about size and color, he unzipped the main compartment. His hand froze. It wasn’t the unopened package of condoms that snared his interest, but the hand-tooled leather wallet.

"Léo is right about a lot of things." "I told him mine would have pockets too." I looked at her. She was entirely serious. "Your dress?" "For the wedding. The one I'm wearing. It needs pockets for the hard hat because I can't wear it the whole time, I'll need somewhere to put it." I turned away before she could see my expression. "Very practical," I said. "Yes," she agreed, and went back to the kitchen. I stood with the silk and thought about pockets. Deep ones, sewn into the side seams so they did not break the line. The kind you could put your hands into without thinking about it. The kind that said: this woman has somewhere to keep her own things.

The silhouette that was not the exaggerated elegance of performance but the specific quiet confidence of a woman who knew what she was. And at the left side. Hidden. A pocket. Small. Accessible only to the wearer. Not for the ammonite. Not large enough for the ammonite. For something smaller. Something specific. I looked at the pocket. I looked at Amara. She was watching me look at it. The expression that was entirely hers. "What goes in the pocket?" I said. She looked at the dress. She looked at the pocket. "I don't know yet," she said. "But something will." A pause. "The pocket is for things that need to survive." She looked at me. "That's what I make them for."

Meaning, how much their worth. Oh yes, they still use pouches in this world, or that’s what Jai noticed. He preferred using his wallet though. He brought his wallet with him when he transmigrated here, but it sat idly in the drawer in his room just like his old clothes. He wondered if wallets had already been invented or not, knowing that paper money had already been invented. These papers were obviously folded in the pouch. But luckily, the designer of the pouch was smart enough to install two spaces inside the bag to store two kinds of currency.

He flashes me a reassuring smile before leaving the room. The pants he brought are exactly what I’ve been searching for. They’re similar to what the guys wear, complete with small pockets on the legs, but they fit closer to my body. Designed for a weapons belt, they sit well against my hips. As I begin to fill the pockets, I realize why the guys always wear their belts… the weight threatens to pull my pants down without one.