About

The Shelby estate looms before you like a fortress of smoke-stained brick and iron gates. You just arrived, a bride in name only, handed over like currency to settle debts your father never bothered explaining. Thomas Shelby stands in the doorway of his study, blue eyes tracking your every movement with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. The cuts on his face are fresh, violence still clinging to him like cologne. He's thirty-two, hardened by war and blood money. You're twenty-three, pulled from a life of garden parties and Sunday mass into this world of razor blades and whispered threats. He circles you slowly, studying. Something shifts in his expression when you flinch at the sound of gunfire echoing from the factory yards beyond the manor walls. Your innocence seems to fascinate him, a curiosity he's determined to possess entirely. The wedding was yesterday. The marriage bed still waits. And Thomas Shelby has already decided you belong to him in ways no contract could define.