𝑮𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒙

Portishead

2:41 ────♡─── 4:31

"𝚂𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙, 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗"

The house was quiet when Maeve pushed the door open, slipping inside and shutting it softly behind her. She'd had a long day-her body ached, her mind whirred, and all she wanted was silence and a cup of tea.

But she wasn't alone.

From the corner of the dark room came a low, gravelly voice that made her jump. "Where've you been?"

Maeve's hand flew to her chest as she spun around, her pulse hammering. Arthur Shelby sat slouched in a chair in the corner, his frame hidden in the shadows, a cigarette glowing faintly in his hand.

"Jesus, Arthur!" she snapped, her voice sharper than intended. "Lurking in the dark like that-thought you were a bloody ghost."

Arthur leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Where were you?"

Maeve took a deep breath, steadying herself. Her green eyes narrowed as she shrugged off her coat, speaking with an even calm. "Out."

Arthur's brows raised. "Out," he repeated, drawing the word out slowly. "That's all I get?"

She gave him a flat look, unbothered. "Where were you?"

Arthur leaned back, exhaling a cloud of smoke that twisted lazily above his head. "Out."

The silence that followed was heavy. Maeve rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "This is exhausting already."

Arthur didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he stood abruptly, the chair groaning as it scraped back against the floor. He tossed the cigarette into the ashtray and stepped toward her, his face shadowed, but his voice low and dangerous.

"So we're lying to each other now, are we?" he said, his tone soft but edged like glass.

Maeve stiffened, her arms crossing instinctively. "Lying?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed, his voice rising slightly. "You think I don't know? About Ada. About the fucking communist."

Maeve's stomach dropped, but she kept her expression composed. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur let out a bitter laugh, pacing the length of the room as his frustration simmered. "Oh, don't give me that. Freddie Thorne. The bastard you let take her away."

Maeve's calm cracked. "Let her? Are you listening to yourself, Arthur? She's a grown woman-no one lets her do anything."

Arthur turned on his heel to face her, his temper flaring. "Don't start with me, Maeve."

Maeve took a step closer, her voice matching his intensity. "And what exactly was I supposed to do? Drag her back here kicking and screaming? Like you would've handled it any better?!"

Arthur's fists clenched at his sides. "I'd have handled it a damn sight better than leaving her with him. "

"And what's wrong with him?" she shot back. "He treats her like she's worth something-more than can be said for most of the men in this city."

Arthur barked a short, humorless laugh. "He's put a bloody target on her back, that's what's wrong. It's not just about her, it's about all of us. If something happens because of him, who do you think they'll come for?"

Maeve scoffed, her frustration boiling over. "Oh, so that's what this is. It's not about Ada at all, is it? It's about you lot keeping your hands clean and your fucking empire intact!"

Arthur stared at her, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained anger. "You think this is a game. You think we don't have to fight for what's ours."

"No, I think you don't know how to stop fighting," Maeve shot back, her voice quieter now, but no less sharp. "You'll fight until there's nothing left. And for what?"

Arthur didn't answer. He stared at her, his jaw tight, his hands flexing at his sides as if he were holding himself back. The silence that followed was louder than any shouting, the two of them standing mere feet apart like two storms meeting in the middle of the room.

Finally, Arthur turned abruptly, heading for the bedroom. "I'm done talking to you," he muttered, his voice low and bitter.

Maeve let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She ran a hand through her hair, cursing softly under her breath before following him.

When she entered the bedroom, Arthur was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off his boots with jerky, frustrated movements. Maeve paused in the doorway, watching him for a beat before stepping forward.

Without saying a word, she slipped behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting her cheek against the back of his neck. Arthur stilled, his hands falling to his lap as her warmth bled through his frustration.

"I hate you sometimes," she muttered against his skin, her voice low.

Arthur let out a faint chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. "The feeling's mutual."

Maeve pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, soft and deliberate. Arthur closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as her lips trailed lower. His hands moved instinctively to cover hers, pulling her closer as one kiss turned into another, both of them forgetting the fight-forgetting everything but this.

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Later, they lay tangled together beneath the sheets, the room quiet except for their breathing. Arthur was propped up against the headboard, his hand running absentmindedly through Maeve's hair as she lay curled beside him.

Arthur broke the silence first. "Maeve."

"Mm?" she murmured sleepily.

He paused, like he was testing the waters. "The races. I need you to come with me."

Maeve's eyes opened slowly, and she turned her head to look at him. "What races?"

Arthur shifted slightly, his expression casual. Too casual. "It's nothing. I've sorted the clothes and everything. You just need to show up."

Maeve's brow furrowed. "When? With who?"

Arthur didn't answer immediately.

"Say or silence?" Maeve asked, sitting up slightly.

Arthur took a long pause, his jaw clenching as he looked at her. Finally, he exhaled, his tone firm. "Silence."

Maeve opened her mouth to argue, but Arthur cut her off with a kiss, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her back down against him.

When he finally broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers, his voice low. "Go to sleep, Maeve."

She glared at him through narrowed eyes but said nothing, lying back down with a frustrated huff.

Arthur smirked faintly as he turned off the lamp, the room sinking into darkness. "You'll thank me later."

Maeve muttered something unintelligible under her breath, but her hand still sought his in the dark, her fingers curling lightly around his.

Arthur said nothing. But as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, he knew she wouldn't thank him when she found out what was really waiting for her at the races.

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The sound of Maeve's heels echoed as she descended the narrow staircase of her home, the emerald green of her coat catching the dim light. Her hat sat elegantly on her head, and the gloves she smoothed down with practiced calm were pristine. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze sharp.

Arthur Shelby stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting, his tuxedo well-fitted and a cane in his hand. He looked her over with a crooked smile, shifting slightly as if to compliment her, but Maeve spoke first.

"You ready to leave?" she asked plainly, stopping at the last step.

Arthur didn't answer. He simply lifted his cane and pointed across the room.

Maeve turned her head, her brows drawing together as she saw Tommy Shelby standing near the doorway, a cigarette already between his fingers. He looked at her coolly, as if he'd been waiting for this moment.

"What's going on?" she asked, her tone low and edged with suspicion.

Tommy stepped forward, exhaling smoke slowly before speaking. "I'm taking you to the races."

Maeve's head turned back to Arthur. "What?"

Arthur shrugged, unbothered, and replied with one word: "Silence."

A beat passed. Maeve's lips pressed into a thin line, and her stare lingered on Arthur like a slow-burning fire. Arthur adjusted his tie, expecting a smart remark but getting nothing. That alone put him on edge.

Maeve moved toward him without a word, her steps deliberate. Arthur straightened up slightly, expecting a kiss or a whispered insult. Instead, Maeve drove her knee into his groin.

Arthur doubled over with a groan, his hand gripping the edge of the wall for balance. "Fucking hell, Maeve!"

Maeve straightened her hat and tilted her head down, looking at him coolly. "Silence."

Arthur, still half-bent, forced a crooked grin through the pain. "Of course, love," he muttered, leaning up just enough to plant a quick kiss on her cheek.

Maeve rolled her eyes, turning toward Tommy without another word. Tommy said nothing-he only watched the exchange with faint amusement, the cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers.

"Ready, then?" Tommy asked as Maeve passed him.

"Get me out of here," she replied flatly, heading for the door.

Tommy flicked ash from his cigarette, giving Arthur one last glance as he followed Maeve outside.

Arthur, still recovering, mumbled under his breath with a smirk. "Bloody woman's going to be the death of me."

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The car rattled softly as it rolled over the cobbled streets, the silence inside heavier than the smoke Tommy exhaled from his cigarette. Maeve stared out the window, arms folded tightly across her chest. Tommy, sitting across from her, finally spoke.

"You're quiet tonight."

Maeve didn't look at him, her tone clipped. "Not much to say."

Tommy raised an eyebrow but let it slide. They drove on, the city melting away into quieter streets, until the car slowed unexpectedly. Maeve frowned, glancing out the window.

"Why are we stopping?"

Tommy didn't answer immediately, but Maeve's eyes caught movement outside. Her expression froze as she spotted a figure walking toward the car. A woman-tall, blonde, and dressed in a stunning red gown that Maeve recognized all too well.

Grace Burgess.

Maeve watched as Grace approached, her heels clicking against the ground. The red dress clung to her like a statement, her golden hair glowing in the pale light of the street lamps.

When Grace opened the door, she smiled faintly at Tommy, her eyes betraying a hint of confusion. "I thought it was only us two going to the races," she said, her voice polite but pointed.

Maeve said nothing, her green eyes moving slowly from Grace to Tommy. Tommy shrugged, lighting another cigarette as though the tension in the air didn't exist. "Change of plans."

Grace hesitated for a moment before climbing in beside Tommy, her perfume trailing faintly in the air. Maeve turned her gaze back to the window, her expression cool and unreadable as she ignored the glance Grace cast her way.

The car pulled away, the silence stretching longer this time. But if anyone noticed Maeve's fingers gripping her gloves a little too tightly, they were smart enough not to mention it.

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The races were alive with noise and spectacle, but Maeve Harding barely noticed. She followed behind Tommy and Grace as they slipped through the back entrance, the chaos of the crowd muffled by heavy velvet curtains. Grace's voice prattled on ahead of her, soft but persistent.

"Where are we going exactly? Who are we meeting? Why through the back door?" Grace asked, her curiosity relentless.

Tommy didn't answer, focused instead on lighting a cigarette as they moved through the narrow corridor. She could hear the music now, muffled but grand, a band playing some lively tune as laughter and shouting bled through the walls. Tommy finally stopped, nodding to a passing doorman. Grace followed, still speaking, but Maeve lingered behind.

When they entered the main room, Maeve took it all in quickly: the high ceilings, the chandeliers dripping with crystals, the rows of tables occupied by well-dressed men and women. It was a different world from the grimy streets of Birmingham, but Maeve felt no more out of place here than anywhere else. Her emerald coat gave her a presence that demanded attention, though she moved quietly, almost like a shadow.

She leaned casually against the wall near the edge of the room, her emerald coat a vivid contrast against the muted tones of her surroundings. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between her gloved fingers. She saw Tommy and Grace out of the corner of her eye, swirling across the dance floor, though she didn't bother watching for long. She had more important things to do-like keeping an eye on exits and noting who was watching whom.

"Stunning, isn't it?"

Maeve stiffened only slightly at the sudden voice, her sharp gaze flicking to the man standing a few feet away. He was tall, dark-haired, and impeccably dressed, his suit tailored so well it might've been sewn onto him. There was a confidence about him, the kind of ease that made it clear he wasn't just another man at the races.

He smiled faintly when she didn't answer. "I meant the view. The people. Everything," he continued, gesturing lightly with his hand before tucking it back into his coat pocket. "But I suppose you already knew that."

"Is that your way of trying to be charming?" Maeve asked dryly, taking another drag from her cigarette. "Because it's shite."

The man's smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew more amused. "Karim Al-Rashid," he said smoothly, extending a hand toward her. "And you are?"

Maeve eyed the hand briefly before flicking her gaze back to his face. "Not interested."

Karim chuckled under his breath and lowered his hand. "I can't decide if you're always this polite or if I'm just lucky."

Maeve exhaled smoke slowly, tilting her head slightly. "You're lucky I haven't told you to fuck off yet."

He didn't react to the bite in her tone. Instead, he studied her with interest, his gaze sharp but non threatening. "You're Maeve Harding, aren't you?" he asked finally.

Maeve's eyes narrowed slightly, though her expression remained unreadable. "Should I be flattered you know my name?"

"Not flattered," Karim replied, shrugging lightly. "Curious, perhaps. I make it my business to know everyone who matters."

Maeve scoffed faintly, tapping ash onto the floor. "And who decided I matter, exactly? You?"

"Perhaps," Karim said, a small, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Though I suspect you already knew that."

Maeve straightened, turning to face him fully now. She was calm, poised, but her words cut like glass. "Listen, Karim Al-Rashid," she said, her voice low and edged with sarcasm. "I don't know who you think you are or what you want, but let me make something clear. I'm not interested in whatever game you're playing and I'm taken. So take your fancy suit, your smug grin, and fuck off back to whatever hole you crawled out of."

Karim's smile didn't waver. If Maeve had hoped to rattle him, he didn't show it. "You don't mince words, do you?"

"I don't have time for pleasantries," Maeve replied coolly. "And you're wasting mine."

Karim chuckled softly, the sound irritatingly smooth. "Interesting," he murmured, almost to himself. "You don't seem like a woman who belongs here, yet here you are. Staring at exits, keeping yourself. Who are you hiding from, I wonder?"

Maeve took a step closer, her heels clicking against the floor. Her green eyes burned into his with quiet fury. "You ask too many questions for a man who doesn't know when to shut his mouth."

Karim tilted his head slightly, as though she'd amused him. "And yet you haven't walked away."

"I will," Maeve said, lifting her cigarette to her lips, "as soon as you do."

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. Karim regarded her carefully, his expression giving nothing away. Finally, he spoke again, his voice quieter but no less confident. "You're different, Maeve Harding. I can see why some people might be afraid of you."

Maeve raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Afraid? No. They're just smarter than you."

Karim let out a quiet laugh, as though he couldn't help himself. He inclined his head slightly, a gesture that felt both polite and mocking at the same time. "Until we meet again, then."

Maeve didn't reply. She simply turned back toward the dance floor, exhaling smoke as though the interaction hadn't meant a thing. Karim watched her for a moment longer before finally moving off toward the table where Tommy sat with Kimber.

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At the table, the business was straightforward at first. Tommy's voice was calm and measured, his sharp eyes taking in everything as Kimber and his accountant laid out numbers. Karim slipped into the conversation effortlessly, leaning in with the ease of someone who belonged there.

The deal was nearly done when Kimber leaned back in his chair, grinning like a fox as he drained his glass. "Then let me throw a small condition into the mix." His eyes flicked toward the dance floor. "I want the blonde."

Tommy paused. His jaw twitched, but his face gave nothing away. He nodded once. "Anything else?"

Karim's voice cut through the room, quiet but firm. "I want her."

Everyone's heads turned to follow his gesture-his finger aimed straight at Maeve, who stood at the edge of the room, smoking her cigarette with practiced indifference.

Tommy hesitated. He didn't move, didn't speak, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed his thoughts. He knew this wasn't going to go well. For him. For Karim. For anyone, really.

"Not her," Tommy said finally, his voice certain. Karim raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Why not?"

Tommy's fingers tapped against the edge of the table. "She's my sister-in-law."

Karim tilted his head slightly, his gaze calculating. "I don't see a ring on her finger."

The silence hung between them for a moment before Tommy pushed his chair back abruptly and stood. Without another word, he crossed the room toward Maeve, leaving Karim and Kimber at the table.Maeve saw Tommy coming and raised an eyebrow, exhaling smoke as he stopped in front of her.

"What?"

Tommy looked irritated. "You're going to go with Karim."

Maeve froze, narrowing her eyes. "The fuck I am."

Tommy sighed. "Only for two hours, Maeve. He's with Kimber. You'll sit, smile, and drink-nothing else. I'll be there before you even notice."

"Are you fucking joking?" Maeve said, her voice low.

Tommy didn't flinch, though he looked ready for her anger. "It's business."

Maeve scoffed, taking another drag before tapping ash onto the floor. "Then let him take Grace."

Tommy's lips twitched. "Kimber's already got claims on her. Karim asked for you."

Maeve stared at him, unblinking. "You told him no."

Tommy didn't answer right away. "I tried."

Maeve's eyes burned into his, and for a moment, she looked ready to throw her cigarette in his face. But she didn't. Instead, she inhaled deeply, letting the silence drag before exhaling and muttering, "Fuck you, Tommy."

Tommy shrugged. "You've said worse."

Maeve didn't respond. She let the cigarette burn down between her fingers as Tommy turned and walked away. Karim watched her now from the table, his expression neutral but curious. He was waiting, and Maeve hated that she'd have to give him the satisfaction.

Finally, she crushed the cigarette beneath her heel, straightened her coat, and made her way across the room. Karim stood as she approached, a polite smile pulling at his lips.

"Change your mind?" he asked lightly.

Maeve didn't bother answering. She stopped in front of him, her green eyes locking with his. "Don't talk to me," she said flatly. "Don't touch me. And don't think for a fucking second that I'll give myself to you."

Karim's smile widened slightly, as though he found her words amusing. "Noted," he said softly, extending his arm in a gesture of invitation. Maeve ignored it, moving past him toward the table.

Karim chuckled under his breath as he followed. "This is going to be fun." Maeve didn't look back.