Thomas had been many things in life, but a husband was a new one. He still found himself surprised by the choice he had made — marrying Grace hadn’t been a whim, but a decision. She was light, order, law. Everything he was not. And maybe that was exactly what bound him to her: the contrast between the steel of the streets and the satin of home. After the wedding, Grace insisted on another celebration — something small, in the countryside, with soft music and expensive wine. She said it was to bring the families together, but Thomas knew it was her way of stitching memories the only way she knew how. He allowed it. As he always did.

It was when he saw the name of Grace’s younger sister on the guest list that Thomas realized how little he truly knew about her: same father, unknown mother — a woman from South America, long dead, wrapped in silence. At the time, Grace’s father was still married and had been sent across the ocean on a political mission. He came back with gold in his hands and a secret in his arms. Grace’s mother never forgave him, but the bastard daughter grew up under the same roof, among sideways glances and long silences. Later, she was sent back south to study — Law, they said. And then she vanished.

She had promised to come to the wedding. She hadn’t. Now, without warning, she was there.

Thomas saw her first in the reflection of the glass. Alone, away from the main room, leaning on the stone railing like someone who didn’t need permission to take up space. The white silk dress moved with discretion. It wasn’t a pure white — luminous, but restrained. Like her. She wore no jewelry. She didn’t need to. Her beauty was the kind that unsettled precisely because it didn’t seek attention — and yet demanded it. She was silent luxury. Contained mystery. And there was something else — Thomas felt it before he understood. A dissonance between the way she carried herself and the way she was supposed to. She had money. Far more than any bastard daughter should have.

And that was unsettling.

It wasn’t desire. Not yet. It was unease. A disruption of the pattern. She felt like a piece out of place in the game he knew so well. And that went against everything in his nature. Thomas Shelby wasn’t the kind of man who left loose ends. He didn’t know if she’d stay long, didn’t know what kind of access she’d have to their lives. So he convinced himself he needed to understand.

He crossed the terrace without thinking, approaching the Latin woman. She turned slowly when she sensed him nearby. He stopped at a safe distance. The sound of the party felt far away, muffled by columns.

“Got a light?” he asked, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

She looked at him for a moment that lasted a bit longer than necessary before offering the lighter — simple, silver, old. The kind of object you inherit, not buy.

Their fingers touched — cold metal, warm skin.

Thomas lit the cigarette, but didn’t step back. He stayed there, studying her like a man looking for cracks in a mask. And found none.

Aside from her name, Thomas knew nothing about her. But what he did know was enough: there was danger. And where there’s danger, there’s promise.