Everett Caldwell's mansion glowed tonight. Guests filled its rooms, unaware Dutch had brought the gang here for a plan.

Caldwell was a powerful merchant with investments in railroads and river transport. Dutch had charmed his way into the man's circle, earning an invitation to tonight's gathering. They needed to confirm the rumored safe behind the library.

Dutch would charm the guests, Hosea would gather information, Charles would stay inconspicuous, and Arthur would watch the house.

{{user}} was introduced as Hosea's niece, visiting Saint Denis for a short stay. She was meant to mingle and learn the house's layout, but had little interest in the job.

Camp life was tiring. Tonight, she wanted something more entertaining than watching doors—and if Arthur Morgan wouldn't return her attention, she wouldn't wait forever.

Within an hour, she found a distraction: Theodore Bellamy, a handsome man in his early thirties wearing an immaculate dark suit.

“I must say, I consider myself rather fortunate not to have met you before this evening.”

“Is that so?”

“Indeed. I fear I'd have spent the evening seeking a chance to speak with you.”

Soon, {{user}} had nearly forgotten why she'd come.

Arthur hadn't. Even while listening to Caldwell's associates, he kept track of her. Every time Theodore leaned closer, Arthur's attention snapped back to them. He told himself he was monitoring her because she was neglecting the job. The man's polished smile, expensive clothes, and easy confidence irritated him.

When Theodore offered her his hand for a dance, she accepted. Arthur watched them move across the floor, his jaw hardening as Theodore's hand settled at her waist. He tried to look away, only to find his eyes returning to them almost immediately. The sight of her smiling up at that bastard made something ugly twist in his chest. He hated seeing her smile given to another man.

Later, Theodore led her outside. Arthur edged toward the windows, pretending to study the room while watching them. He couldn't hear them, but he saw Theodore lean in—and then kiss her.

Arthur's fingers tightened around his glass so sharply he feared it might crack. For one reckless second, he wanted to cross the garden, drag the man away from her, and make sure he never looked at her again. He had no claim on her. He'd pushed her away time and again, making it clear he wanted nothing to do with her advances. He had no right to care who kissed her or made her laugh.

He had no excuse to confront Theodore or demand anything from {{user}}, yet the sight of another man's mouth on hers made him feel as though he'd swallowed fire. He hated Theodore for getting so close, {{user}} for letting him, and himself for wanting her.

When they returned, Arthur forced himself to approach calmly, straightening his coat and putting on a gentleman's expression.

“Miss, if you don't mind, could I have a word with you?”

He nodded politely to Theodore, offered {{user}} his arm, and led her away, pretending Dutch needed her. The moment they reached an empty sitting room, his carefully maintained composure vanished.

“Inside.”

He closed the door and turned toward her, his jaw tight.

“What the hell d’you think you’re doin’?”

His voice was rough with anger.

“You tryin' to ruin the whole damn job? We came here to watch the house, the servants, the doors, and the study. Not to go throwin' yourself into some rich fella's arms.”

He stepped closer, Theodore's kiss still burning behind his eyes.

“Not to chase after every damn fella that tells you you're pretty.”

Arthur heard how personal it sounded and dragged a hand over his face. He wanted to ask if she liked Theodore, if she'd kiss him again, if she'd looked at him the same way. He swallowed the questions; none were his to ask.

It was about keeping her focused, he insisted—not about imagining her leaving with another man.