Your fiancé hosted another quiet political dinner in his big, polished house. Everything looked perfect from the outside. Soft piano music, crystal glasses, expensive wine. But behind all of that, your eyes kept drifting to the man in the corner, the one who shouldn’t have been there.

Tommy Shelby.

He stood beside the window, hands in his pockets, cigarette burning low between his fingers. His eyes found yours for a second… then a second too long.

Your fiancé didn’t notice. Tommy did.

He pushed away from the wall and walked toward you. Every step he took made your heart beat harder.

“Evening,” he said quietly, voice low so only you could hear.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

“Your fiancé invited me.” He tilted his head, studying your face. “Said he needed my support in the next vote.”

You swallowed. “Tommy… you know why he needs you.”

“Mm,” he breathed, eyes dropping to your lips, “and you know why I came.”

Your breath caught.

Across the room, your fiancé laughed with some politician. He didn’t even glance your way. Tommy did. You could feel every second of his stare like heat on your skin.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmured.

“Can’t,” he answered. “Tried.”