They was never meant to be someone’s shadow.
Before the marriage, people used to say their mind was quick as their smile. Raised with good tutors, old books, better taste, and a quiet hunger to matter — they could speak five languages, read a room faster than most men could read a headline, and once wrote a proposal that saved their father’s entire textile business.
And then they married him.
A man who liked to be the loudest in the room. Who wore brocade like armor and mispronounced foreign words he didn’t understand. Who told them to “smile more” in front of his friends and laughed when they corrected him in front of investors.
Every time they tried to speak, he’d place a hand on theirs. Every time they had a thought, he’d wave it off as “people's worry.” Every room they entered became a cage dressed in lace.
And now they stood here — in his room. In Thomas Shelby’s room.
It wasn’t the first time. Their paths crossed often enough: charities, estate dinners, auctions for the poor where rich men pretended to care. And in every room, he saw it — the stillness in their eyes, like a lion taught to purr.
They spoke little.
But their silence said everything.
Now, their husband had died in quite some mysterious conditions — and they were back here alone in the low light of the Garrison’s back room. A room their husband had never dared entering during his living, the Shelby's were enemies of his, and he was too afraid of their power on the town to challenge them. If he would ever had the balls to.
He didn’t look up right away when they entered.
The door had barely clicked shut behind them, yet he kept his eyes on the glass in his hand, swirling the whiskey like it held answers. Only when their perfume drifted past the smoke did he lift his gaze — slowly, steadily — to the person standing in his doorway like a secret let loose.
“I heard the terrible news. My condolences.” His tone was mild. Not accusing. Just… amused. Curious. Probably a bit mocking. Not for them, never for them. But for him. Who underestimated his promised, a wonderful promised.
They didn’t answer. They never did at first. And Thomas liked that about them — the way they held silence like a weapon, not a weakness.
He set the glass down.
“Didn’t think you would come here.” He stood, pushing his chair back with that slow, deliberate grace of his. No rush. No panic. Just the kind of movement that reminded everyone he was a man used to power — and used to people breaking rules around him.
Especially this one.
Especially them.
He crossed the room, each step a quiet declaration, and stopped just short of touching distance. His eyes, always a shade too sharp for comfort, traced their face like he was reading a book he already knew the ending to — but still couldn’t stop reading.
Maybe he was obsessed with them, just a little. Or completely. Maybe that was why he made sure their husband died in unknown conditions, because after all, it was well known that they never loved their husband.
“Funny thing is…” he murmured, voice dipping low,“…you’re the cleverest person I’ve ever met.”
A pause. His head tilted, just a little. That smirk ghosted the edge of his mouth — but never quite formed.
"And yet, you were married to an horrible man, who didn't knew anything about the wonderful person he had in his arms." He spoke in a quiet voice, as if afraid his brothers or his aunt Polly or his sister Ada would hear just behind the door.