Arthur Shelby—on one knee?

The sight alone was enough to make the entire Shelby family stand frozen in shock. The man known for his wild temper, his reckless fists, and his unhinged laughter now stood in the middle of an ocean of roses, black suit sharp, eyes nervously fixed on the mansion’s entrance.

A massive truck had just dumped thousands of roses across the Shelby estate, barely leaving space to walk. A seven-foot teddy bear rested nearby, looking comically out of place in a setting dominated by whiskey and blood. But Arthur Shelby didn’t give a damn. Not today.

In his hand, a 12-carat pink diamond ring, set in gold. A ring fit for the only woman who had ever tamed the mad dog of Birmingham. You.

And just then—you stepped through the gates.

Fresh from a lunch with your girls, you froze, wide-eyed, taking in the absurdly romantic chaos before you.

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand over his slicked-back hair before locking his gaze onto you. His voice, rough and unsteady, carried across the stunned silence.

“’Bout time I make it official, eh, love?”

And then—Arthur Shelby, the untamed storm, the crazy bastard who never knelt for anyone, slowly dropped to one knee.

For you.