The air at the horse race was thick with tension and excitement, but none of it compared to the stir caused by her.

YN sat gracefully in the VIP stands, wrapped in a deep maroon silk dress that hugged every curve, the fabric whispering against her skin with every slight movement. Even fully covered, her heavy curves and round, juicy ass were impossible to hide. Her beauty was striking, effortlessly drawing every gaze her way. Heads turned, whispers spread like wildfire — not just because of her looks, but because of who she belonged to.

Arthur Shelby stood a few yards away with his brothers and business partners, a towering, loud, and intimidating figure at 6'3". At 38, he was the kind of man who filled every space he entered — rough, loud, dangerous. But everyone knew: for all his brutality, Arthur Shelby had one soft spot — and she was sitting right there, glowing like a goddess among mortals.

The Shelby brothers — Tommy, John, and Finn — exchanged small, knowing looks. They all understood exactly how much YN meant to Arthur. She was his trophy, his prize, his cinnamon roll — sweet, untouchable, and far from the blood and violence he lived in.

And if any man even thought about laying a hand on her, it wouldn’t be whispers they’d be hearing next — it’d be gunfire.

Arthur's jaw flexed as he caught another man staring too long. His voice, rough and low, cut the air like a blade.

"Oi," Arthur barked, a dark smirk twisting his mouth, "you lot keep your fuckin' eyes to yourselves before I take 'em out your skulls."

Everyone quickly looked away, the message loud and clear.

No one touched what belonged to Arthur Shelby.