The job was supposed to be simple. Get in, rob the rich bastard blind, get out before the law caught wind. Arthur moved through the hallways with steady boots and sharper eyes, silver already heavy in his satchel. Dutch and Bill were upstairs, ransacking the study, while John cursed quietly somewhere near the wine cellar.

But Arthur’s pace slowed when he saw the chained door at the end of the hall.

“Dutch, you seen this?” he called over his shoulder.

“What, the damn chandelier?” Dutch replied from above. “Take it if you can carry it.”

Arthur ignored him, frowning at the lock. It wasn’t right. Rich folks didn’t chain closets. He picked the lock quickly—too quickly for something meant to keep out thieves—and pushed the door open.

She was there.

Sitting in the pale light from a cracked window, wearing a white dress that had seen better days. Her hair hung loose, and when she turned to look at him, there was no fear—just quiet, sharp curiosity.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, voice soft but steady.

Arthur blinked, caught off guard. “Robbin’ your husband, miss,” he said plainly, tipping his hat with a half-smile.

She gave a bitter little laugh. “Good.”

That froze him for a second.

Footsteps pounded down the hall—Javier appeared in the doorway, rifle slung over one shoulder. “Arthur? Found some bonds in the office. What’s in here?”

Arthur didn’t take his eyes off her. “Not what. Who.”

Javier peered in, eyebrows lifting. “That the man’s wife?”

“Locked away like she ain’t,” Arthur muttered. He looked back at her, and his jaw tightened. “He keeps you in here?”

She gave a slow nod. “Says it’s for my own good. But I know better. I’m not a wife to him. I’m a possession.”

Arthur’s expression darkened. “You ain’t nobody’s property.”

“Tell him that,” she said, motioning toward the house beyond the door.

Dutch’s voice echoed down the hall. “Arthur, what’s the delay?”

"Come look!" Arthur yelled down the hall, keeping half an eye on the girl.