The Garrison's doors creaked open, and Arthur Shelby—towering at 6'3", fists like bricks, eyes like storms—stepped in.

The eldest Shelby brother. The loudest. The wildest. The scariest.

And right behind him… her.

YN.

Every little jaw at the Shelby family table dropped like coins hitting a floor.

Charlie, Ruby, Esmarelda, Henry, and William—Tommy and John’s lot—just stared.

Decked in a sleek black turtleneck hugged tight over heavy curves, a mini skirt that sat scandalously on her hips, long coat trailing behind, heels clicking with that grown woman confidence—she didn’t walk in. She owned the bloody pub.

Ruby blinked. “That’s Uncle Arthur’s girlfriend?”

Charlie leaned over to Henry. “She’s fit. Like… proper model fit.”

William whispered to Esmarelda, “Is this what good taste looks like?”

Arthur, oblivious to the mini heart attacks going around, simply pulled out her chair like the gentleman brute he was. His voice was rough as ever, but gentle when he spoke to her:

“There ya go, love. Don’t let these little devils scare ya.”

YN just smiled politely, sitting with a quiet thank you, crossing her legs with elegance none of the kids thought could ever exist next to someone who once headbutted a man unconscious for looking at him funny.

John leaned to Tommy, deadpan: “How the fuck did he pull that off?”

Tommy lit a cigarette and said, “Don’t know, but he’s never allowed to complain again.”