The Garrison buzzed with energy as the crew for Charlie's music video set up, lights flashing and cameras rolling. YN stood near the center, dancing with Charlie, the 17-year-old now a man in his own right—tall, bulky, his body solid and filled out from years of training. The music pulsed through the room, and Charlie moved with confidence, but it was YN who stole the show.

At 23, she was the youngest woman in the Shelby family, a stunner with heavy curves and a round, juicy ass. Her black, silky hair flowed as she moved, and the deep off-shoulder bra top she wore exposed her cleavage, the high-waisted baggy jeans clinging to her hips as she swayed to the beat. Her presence was undeniable—confident, provocative, and drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Charlie looked every bit the man he was becoming, but it was YN who commanded the eyes of everyone, especially the college students filming him. Whispers filled the air, some of them jokingly shipping the two of them together, not knowing the truth.

Arthur Shelby, standing near the bar with a cigarette in his hand, watched his woman with a dark smirk. His 6'3" frame was a tower in the room, and even from across the space, his presence was commanding. His eyes were fixed on YN, and there was no mistaking the possessive heat in them.

Arthur took a slow drag from his cigarette before his voice boomed, cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. “Oi, Charlie,” he called out, his tone a mix of amusement and warning. “You keep those hands where they belong, or I’ll bloody show you what it means to be a real man.”

The room fell into a tense silence, eyes darting to Charlie, who immediately froze. He glanced at his uncle, then at YN, knowing exactly who she belonged to, and a nervous laugh bubbled up.

“Uncle Arthur,” Charlie muttered, clearly uncomfortable, but Arthur’s smirk remained. He wasn’t one to play games, especially when it came to the women in his life.