The Garrison was quiet—too quiet. Arthur Shelby, 6’3” of pure muscle, rage, and chaos, crouched behind the bar with Tommy and John, snickering like schoolboys. The prank was simple: send word to YN that Arthur had died in a fight.

Everyone knew YN—sassy, short-tempered, confident, and always ready to cause a scene. But when she walked in and heard the soldier solemnly say, “Arthur didn’t make it,” the room shifted.

Her hands started shaking.

Then—SLAP.

YN (voice breaking, furious):
"My husband returns home tonight… and every bloody night after that!"

Arthur blinked. “Husband?”
Tommy’s brows shot up. John nearly choked on his laugh. Arthur stood, sheepish, grinning.

Arthur (hands raised, grinning):
"You called me your husband, love. You really do like me, eh?"

She stormed toward him, eyes blazing. Even the crazy bastard braced himself.

Arthur (quickly):
"Don’t be mad! It was Tommy’s idea—swear on me mum!"

Still grinning. Still terrified. Because if Arthur Shelby was dangerous… YN when pissed off was something else entirely.