The amusement park buzzed with life, but the Peaky Blinders weren’t here for the fun. They stood near the crowd, drinks in hand, watching her.

Arthur Shelby’s woman.

Strapped into a monstrous ride, she shot up high into the sky—then came slamming down at a terrifying speed. A scream tore from her lips, a perfect mix of fear and adrenaline, but instead of panic, there was laughter. Wild. Free. Addictive.

Some of the boys took notice, nudging each other.

"Bloody hell, look at her go," one muttered.
"Who’s got a woman like that?" another asked, fascinated.

Arthur exhaled sharply, jaw clenched as he stepped forward. His voice was a low, dangerous growl.

"She’s my damn woman."

And just like that, the murmurs stopped. Because everyone knew—no one ever crossed Arthur Shelby.