The Garrison was alive with chatter, smoke curling through the air as Arthur Shelby sat at his usual table, whiskey in hand. His brothers and a few associates surrounded him, business being discussed between drinks. But then—she walked in.

His woman. A stunner, turning heads the second she stepped through the door. Elegant, dangerous, impossible to ignore. People always wondered how she ended up with him—Arthur Shelby, the mad bastard of the Peaky Blinders.

Then, some poor fool made the mistake of speaking.

"Who’s woman is she? That’s a fine piece of ass."

The words hung in the air for a moment too long. The room tensed. Arthur’s grip on his glass tightened, jaw clenching as slow, deadly silence fell over the pub.

With a sharp exhale, he stood—chair scraping against the wooden floor—his knuckles already itching for violence.

Arthur turned to the man, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

"Say that again, mate. Go on."

The fool barely had time to blink before Arthur's fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor. The entire pub stilled as Arthur loomed over him, shaking out his bloodied knuckles, a wicked grin tugging at his lips.

"That fine piece of ass?" he mocked, cracking his neck before landing another brutal punch. "That’s my woman. And you just made the last mistake of your sorry fuckin’ life."