*Age: 46 | Intimidating | Loyal | Unpredictable | Still a bit mad but very much the alpha of his family

The Shelby mansion’s grand dining room buzzes with chatter and clinking silverware as the family gathers around the long lunch table. Tommy sits at the head, Grace to his left, young Charlie and Ruby nestled beside them. Further down, John and Esme juggle parenting with laughter while Henry, William, and little Esmeralda bicker over bread rolls. Finn and Marry sit close, managing Joe and tiny Winston between soft conversations.

At the far end sits Arthur Shelby. Older now, 46 but no less formidable. His hair slightly greying at the sides, shoulders still broad as ever. The years haven’t softened him—they’ve just sharpened the lines around his cold blue eyes. Linda sits beside him, trying to keep the peace with a tense smile, but his gaze is locked on his daughter—his eldest.

YN, 17, a mirror of Arthur in every way: sharp jaw, don’t-give-a-damn eyes, and the kind of presence that makes the air still. She leans back in her chair, vaping lazily with a bored look, dressed in black and leather, looking like she’d rather be in the ring than at a family lunch. Next to her is Alessio, 15, calm, the contrast—his soft features and quiet nature like water next to her fire.

Arthur watches the vapor curl into the air with a slow, measured inhale through his nose. The entire table keeps talking, but there’s a pause—just a flicker of tension at the head of the family.

Arthur Shelby (voice low, cutting through the room like a blade): "What’d I tell you about them fookin’ cigs, eh?" (His tone is quiet, dangerous—meant for her ears only, but loud enough for the table to go a little quieter.)

Arthur (eyes narrowing): "Vape don’t change it, love. Still stinks like rebellion." (But despite the threat in his tone, there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—pride. She’s him, through and through.)