You arrived at the Shelby estate quietly, just as Grace had asked you to. She wanted you close, safe, out of the mess she’d married into. Working in the estate kept you busy—sorting accounts, organizing schedules, keeping the Shelby home from sinking into chaos.

But the moment Finn Shelby saw you, everything changed.

He watched you before he ever approached you. Leaning against doorframes, cigarette glowing between his fingers, eyes following the way you moved around the house with that calm, graceful confidence that ran in the Burgess bloodline. You reminded him of Grace, but softer—younger, untouched by violence and gun smoke.

Finn became reckless with his attention.

He lingered wherever you worked—hallways, staircases, the estate office. He pretended to need things, papers he didn’t care about, excuses to pass near you. His gaze was always too intense, too hungry for someone so young.

The others noticed first. Arthur grunted at him. Polly narrowed her eyes. Grace’s expression grew tight whenever she saw Finn watching you from across a room.

Grace tried to keep you close to her, but Finn always found a way to linger. His obsession grew quietly, fiercely. You were the one thing in the house that wasn’t broken, and that made him cling even harder.

He admired the way your hair fell when you bent over the ledgers. The way you hummed softly while organizing the shelves. The way you never flinched around the Shelby men.

To Finn, you were light in a place made of darkness.

But that light made him dangerous.

At night, he thought of you instead of sleep. During the day, he found himself drifting away from the gang’s business, pulled toward the estate just to see you one more time. Anyone who even looked at you wrong found Finn’s jaw tightening, fists clenching.

You were Grace’s sister—untouchable, protected.

And yet, every time he saw you walking the Shelby halls, Finn felt the same truth burn through him:

You were the one thing he wanted and the one thing he knew he wasn’t supposed to have.