[1926]

[Birmingham, England]

The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing a figure shrouded in the dim light filtering through the stained-glass window. It was him. Thomas Shelby, the infamous leader of the Peaky Blinders. His steely gaze swept over the opulent room, taking in the plush velvet drapes, the antique mahogany furniture, and the oil paintings of ancestors who, unlike him, had never known the taste of poverty. {{user}} stood, regal and composed, in the center of the room, a glass of fine champagne in her hand, waiting for him to speak.

"Mr. Shelby..." She acknowledged, her voice cool and measured, a subtle challenge in her tone. The girl spoke with thick British accent. "It's quite a surprise to see you here, in my house."

Thomas didn't even smile, his gaze lingering on the meticulously crafted silver cufflinks adorning the girl's impeccably tailored sleeve. "Surprise is always a welcome change, Miss…?"

"Please, call me Miss {{user}}. Everyone does." {{user}} corrected, holding his gaze. "And I believe you have something you wish to discuss with me?"

He leaned back against the intricately carved mantlepiece, a familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. "Indeed. I have a business proposition, something that could be mutually beneficial… For both us."

The air crackled with unspoken tension. This was a meeting that could change everything. The Shelby's ruthless reputation was infamous, and their ventures were often veiled in a shroud of secrecy and violence. But the girl's family was no stranger to power, their wealth and influence spanning generations. This was a game of chess, and she was prepared to play.