THE SOUND OF WHEELS grinding against damp grass pulled Evelyn from sleep. Inside her caravan, the air was thick with humidity, the lingering wet spell over England making the confined space feel even smaller. Her skin was slick with cold sweat, and she shivered beneath the woolen blanket.

As her eyes fluttered open, she turned her head to the left, finding the space beside her empty. Thomas was gone.

It didn't surprise her. For the past three nights, he had stolen away before dawn, slipping back to the Lee encampment to avoid Zilpha's sharp, knowing eyes. Though all they did was sleep side by side, part of her wished he would stay just once — long enough to rise with her, to watch the first blush of morning bleed into the sky.

A low, rumbling engine cut through the early quiet, growing louder as it neared. The sharp scent of burnt petrol seeped through the wooden walls. Evelyn sat up, stretching the tension from her limbs. On the wall, Thomas's cap still hung from a crooked nail.

That's odd.

Through the fogged glass of the caravan door, she made out dark figures moving in the gray dawn. Frowning, she slid off the mattress, shrugging into her coat before slipping her bare feet into her boots, not bothering to lace them. On her way out, she snatched Thomas's cap, settling it atop her head and tucking her knotted curls beneath the brim.

Outside, the chill bit at her skin. Her breath curled in the crisp air as she exhaled, eyes still heavy with sleep.

Thomas stood a few feet away, his back to her, watching an automobile approach. Against the swirls of pink and orange sky, his silhouette was strong and familiar. She let herself linger on the sight —the broad line of his shoulders, the faint curl of smoke rising from the cigarette in his hand. The morning light softened his features, painting his skin in warm hues.

Nearby, Zilpha stood stiffly, wrapped in layers of cotton and vintage lace. Her dark green skirt swayed in the morning breeze, the color reminding Evelyn of summer oak leaves. A silk scarf was tied over her wild curls, though stray coils had already fought their way free, escaping in untamed plumes.

The automobile came to a halt. The doors creaked open, and from within, John and Esme emerged.

Zilpha gasped. Her surprise barely had time to register before Esme darted forward, throwing slender arms around her mother's neck.

Evelyn's stomach twisted, and she quickly averted her gaze.

"John," she heard Thomas greet his brother, his voice carrying on the wind. She took a step forward, making her presence known.

"What's going on?" Evelyn asked.

Thomas glanced at her, his brows lifting slightly, as if surprised she had appeared beside him so silently. He said nothing about the fact that his cap now sat atop her head.

John, on the other hand, smirked. His eyes flicked between them, amusement dancing in his expression. "Well, I came with a message for Evelyn. Didn't expect to find my brother here too."

Heat crept up Evelyn's neck. She let out a small, uncomfortable laugh, just as Esme snorted.

"Where'd you think he's been every night this week? Sleeping with Curly and the fuckin' horses?"

John colored. "I just thought—"

"What do you want, John?" Thomas cut in, clearly in no mood for teasing.

John's smirk faded as he remembered the purpose of his visit. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a thick piece of paper, the gold-embossed ink catching the light.

"Evelyn received an invitation," he said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "To a party. Hosted by Billy Kimber."

He handed the invitation to her. It was heavier than she expected, the parchment thick beneath her fingertips. The intricate lettering meant nothing to her, but she knew expensive when she saw it.

She stared at the words, pretending for a moment that they held meaning, before nodding. Shame prickled at her skin. She had never been taught to read, though that had never been her fault. Amidst everything else, educating her had been the last thing on her mother's mind.

Esme's sharp gaze landed on her. Esme knew, of course — she had always known. A silent understanding passed between them, a quiet promise that Esme would keep her secret.

Thomas plucked the invitation from her grasp, skimming its contents with a concealed look on his face.

"Someone dropped it on Ada's doorstep this morning," Esme said, drawing attention away from Evelyn. "Which means Kimber knows where you all are staying."

"And that could mean Danior knows as well," John added, his voice tight.

A heavy silence settled over them at the realization that their anonymity was no longer their friend.

It was inevitable. Every day, the Peaky Blinders edged closer to the grand finale of their play, no matter how prepared they were to take center stage. They couldn't hide much longer — this invitation alone made that clear. The party would be their debut, their announcement to the world that they were back.

No more running. No more shadows.

Billy Kimber had placed his bet.

Evelyn spoke for the first time that morning. "How do we know this isn't a setup?"

"You don't," Zilpha interjected, her brown eyes locking onto her niece's. Her expression was wary, a silent warning laced in every line of her face.

Esme cut in, "But is there really any way they could refuse?"

Evelyn pursed her lips, considering. She supposed she didn't really have a choice. Not showing up to Kimber's party would cost them his allegiance — and without Kimber turning on Danior, they were back at square one.

Her silence seemed answer enough.

Thomas exhaled. "Tomorrow night, then." He turned to Evelyn, a slow smirk curling at his lips. "Looks like we'll finally be having some fun together."

Even though Evelyn shot him a tight smile, she couldn't shake the feeling that a risk of a setup seemed higher than ever. They would be raw meat walking into a den of hungry lions — everyone knew it, but no one said a word to contradict it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The crunch of tires against gravel dulled the noise in Evelyn's head as they rolled up the long driveway toward Billy Kimber's mansion. Along the path, hired hands lit lamps, their flames flickering against the deep orange sky. The glow merged with the fading daylight, making the fire look almost translucent.

She had never seen such excess. The house was a fortress of stone and marble, its three-story façade drowning in windows. At each corner, neatly trimmed hedges framed the structure, spring's first buds peppering the greenery. A beautiful estate — for a man with no family. The sheer size of it felt wasteful, something Evelyn would never understand.

"I think he's compensating for something," she muttered to John beside her as the car came to a stop.

Arthur, up front next to Thomas, let out a loud laugh. "Yeah, bet he ain't too proud of what's in his trousers," he nudged Thomas. "Ain't that right?"

Thomas's lips twitched, barely suppressing his amusement. Beside her, John chuckled. "Arthur, there's a lady in the car."

Arthur twisted around in his seat, tilting his cap apologetically. "Right! Sorry, miss."

Evelyn just laughed, shaking her head. When she turned back, she caught Thomas's gaze in the rearview mirror, but he quickly looked away.

John stepped out first, then offered her his hand. The moment her heeled shoes met the gravel, her ankles wobbled dangerously.

"Fucking Ada..." she muttered.

"Let me, John."

Thomas's voice was quiet, but firm. John smirked before slipping his arm away, passing her off without argument. Heat crept up Evelyn's neck as she hooked her elbow through Thomas's, her fingers instinctively curling around the firm muscle of his bicep.

"I think Ada enjoys dressing you up," he murmured as they started toward the house. There was amusement in his voice — subtle, but enough to make her stomach flutter.

Evelyn glanced down at the green dress, its beaded fabric catching the last rays of sunlight like water droplets. It was too big, dragging slightly despite the heels meant to compensate, and the loose straps kept slipping down her shoulders. Worse still, if she so much as leaned forward, the whole damn room would get a show.

"I hate it," she muttered, pushing back a curl that had escaped her bun. "I don't know how women get anything done dressed like this."

Thomas huffed a quiet laugh. "I don't think they're meant to."

She elbowed him lightly, and he grinned.

Inside, the grand entrance was a spectacle — polished floors gleaming under a massive chandelier, its crystal shards refracting light like tiny daggers. Gold trim lined the walls, everything curated to impress. But like the man who owned it, the house tried too hard. It wanted to be aristocratic and fell just short.

A butler appeared, dressed in a plain black-and-white suit, his face blank with disinterest.

"Mr. Kimber invites you to join him and his guests in the parlor."

Evelyn barely spared him a glance, her attention snagging on the dining room to their left. A long mahogany table stretched the length of the space, high-backed chairs arranged with military precision. No doubt this was where Kimber would host his meal, parading his wealth for everyone to see. Evelyn scoffed under her breath before Thomas nudged her forward.

The deeper they went, the heavier the air became — thick with cigar smoke, old leather, and the sharp sting of whatever cologne Kimber had doused himself in. The scent clung to the walls, invasive and overbearing, like the man himself. It made Evelyn want to gag.

The parlor was darker than the rest of the house, its wood-paneled walls swallowing what little light the dim lamps provided. Hunting trophies loomed over them, glass cases packed with expensive trinkets. A polished pistol sat on the mantel, positioned deliberately — a quiet warning. Kimber was always prepared for a fight, always expecting one. Though Evelyn doubted he could actually pull the trigger.

The room teemed with people, men in sharp suits and women in glittering dresses, Birmingham's best attempt at high society. Their chatter softened as the Shelby brothers stepped in, but that didn't stop them. They moved like they owned the place, untouched by the spectacle around them.

Everything about this house was designed to make men feel small and Kimber feel big. But the Peaky Blinders wouldn't bow.

Evelyn didn't see a mansion. She saw a cage. A gilded one, maybe, but a cage all the same. And soon, if she and Thomas played this right, it would be nothing more than an empty one.

A slow smile curved her lips as Thomas handed her a crystal glass of whiskey.

"What are you smiling for?" he murmured, his mouth tilting just enough to send heat sparking through her fingertips.

She took a slow sip. "I'm picturing what this place would look like in flames."

Thomas hummed, scanning the room with her. None of the faces were familiar — a good sign. Strictly Kimber's men.

But Kimber himself was nowhere to be seen.

Evelyn frowned. "I don't like that he's not here."

Thomas clicked his tongue in agreement. "Kimber may be the kind of man who likes a grand entrance."

She exhaled sharply, watching Arthur and John take a slow lap, eyes sharp like soldier on duty despite their casual flirtations with a few women in the room. Their antics earned a round of giggles, loud enough to turn heads.

Next to her, Thomas muttered something under his breath, shaking his head.

The tension stretched, tight and waiting.

The low hum of conversation dulled as a door at the far end of the parlor creaked open. The air shifted — subtle but unmistakable. A ripple of tension passed through the room, pulling attention toward the entrance like a slow-building storm.

Billy Kimber stepped inside, flanked by two men.

Evelyn's breath caught in her throat.

Mircea and Mihai.

The twin brothers stood like silent sentinels on either side of Kimber, their expressions unreadable, their postures sharp and disciplined. The only thing that separated them was the jagged scar across Mihai's face.

They wore the kind of suits that blended into places like this — dark, tailored, expensive — but Evelyn knew better. The cut of them, the way the fabric sat across their shoulders, the heavy gold rings on their fingers... these were her father's men. Pure blood Romani, and nothing more. They were kin.

Her cousins.

Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to stay still, gripping her glass tighter as whiskey licked against the rim. The last time she had seen Mircea and Mihai, she had been hiding in a bush, praying for her life. Now, they stood in front of her, only feet away.

Danior had sent them.

Or rather, he had sent them to Kimber, and by some deliberate, silent calculation, he had allowed them to cross her path. A message. One that only she would understand.

He knew she was here.

A slow, heavy pulse began in her throat. She fucking knew it, though, hadn't she? From the moment that invitation fell in her hands, she knew it had been from him.

Fuck.

Evelyn gripped Thomas's forearm, hard. Her strength startled him, causing his head to turn her way.

Her face gave her away, because a single crease of concern formed between his brows.

"What is it?"

Evelyn managed to keep her voice from shaking as she murmured, "Those two men next to Kimber — they're Danior's men."

Thomas flicked his attention to them, his eyes narrowing as he sized them up, mentally calculating their presence.

"I - I grew up with them," Evelyn added in whisper, "They're my cousins."

Thomas was silent for a moment, his mind working over this information, attempting to see how it would fit into the way he approached the night.

"What else?" was all he responded.

"They're the ones who took James," Evelyn felt like she could barely breathe, "He knows we're here. My father knows we —."

"Relax," Thomas cut in quickly at the sound of her panic. He turned to her completely, catching her eyes and locking her in place, "You can't lose control here. Not now. Do you understand?"

He was right. She couldn't break now. That's what they wanted.

"Yes," she replied, inhaling slowly. She could do this. After a moment, she exhaled, "I'm fine."

Thomas nodded as Kimber's voice cut through the room, rough and self-assured. "Well, well. If it ain't the Shelby boys, darkenin' my doorstep." He grinned as he strode further in, surveying them like a man who believed himself untouchable. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Arthur took a lazy sip of his drink, eyes glinting. "Oh, you know. Just thought we'd see how the King of Birmingham is living these days."

Kimber's grin didn't falter, but something sharpened in his gaze. "That so? If I recall, my invite was only meant for Evelyn. I don't remember there being room for guests."

He moved to the center of the room, gesturing vaguely with his hand in her direction. Mircea and Mihai followed with precise steps, standing just behind him. Not a flicker of recognition passed between them and Evelyn, but that was the point. They wouldn't look at her. Wouldn't acknowledge her. This wasn't a reunion. It was a warning.

She knew how her father worked.

Evelyn forced herself to breathe. To stay still. To act like this meant nothing.

Kimber poured himself a drink, tossing a glance at Thomas. "And you, Mr. Shelby? You just here for the free whiskey, or should I be expectin' a knife in my back?"

Thomas gave him a slow, measured look. "Wouldn't be much of a knife in the back if you saw it coming, eh Kimber?"

Laughter rippled through the room, but Evelyn barely heard it. Her eyes flickered to Mircea's hand as he lifted his glass. A subtle movement, but deliberate. A ring glinted on his pinky — a craned bird carved into the gold. Their family's mark.

Evelyn swallowed hard.

Danior was watching. He always had been.

The party stretched, coiling tight beneath the polished veneer of laughter and clinking glasses. It carried on around them — women draped in silk and pearls, men smoking cigars and dealing in quiet conversations — but for those who knew better, it was a battlefield.

Evelyn stayed close to Thomas, sipping her whiskey at an unhurried pace, her gaze sweeping the room without appearing too interested. Kimber held court at the center, basking in his own presence, entertaining his guests with exaggerated stories. But it was the two men at his flank that kept her spine rigid.

Mircea and Mihai moved like shadows, never straying far from Kimber, their roles carefully curated. They weren't just here as muscle; they were here to be seen. To remind her, without a single word, that her father was watching. That he had allowed her this game — but only to a point.

She felt Thomas shift beside her. He wasn't looking at her, but she knew he was aware of her focus, of the way her fingers gripped the stem of her glass just a little too tightly. He leaned in, voice low and easy.

"You doin' alright?"

She tilted her head, keeping her expression bored, as if they were merely discussing the whiskey in their hands. "I knew this was a fucking trap."

Thomas hummed, taking a slow sip of his drink, his gaze flicking past Kimber's shoulder. He had been watching the twins too, though more carefully, more discreetly. He knew what they were now. What they represented. And he wasn't about to give them anything.

"Kimber won't do anything tonight," Thomas reassured. "He wasn't expecting us. He thought you'd show up alone."

"Do you think he has something to say to me? Some sort of message from my father?"

Thomas gave this a thought. "It's possible. Do you want to find out?"

Across the room, Arthur laughed too loudly at something a woman whispered in his ear, but his eyes were never off Kimber. John had settled into easy conversation with a few men near the bar, but his posture was alert, his weight balanced just enough that he could move if he needed to.

She glanced at Kimber, mulling Thomas's question over as she shot back the rest of the whiskey in her hand.

He played the part well, smirking, drinking, making a spectacle of himself — she gave him that. But Evelyn had been watching the way his shoulders sat, the slight edge in his voice, the fact that his eyes never truly crinkled when he smiled. The man was trying too hard to seem collected.

"Maybe —" Evelyn began, finding herself cut off.

"I hear you've been causing me trouble." Like a blade slicing through silk, Kimber turned, fixing Thomas with a sharp grin.

The room didn't go silent, but it felt like it. Conversations carried on, laughter still bubbled from corners of the parlor, but the men who mattered — the ones who understood what had just been said — stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Thomas didn't react right away. He took his time, setting his glass down on the small table beside him, straightening just a fraction. He looked at Kimber the way he looked at every man he didn't respect — like he was already considering his funeral arrangements.

"That so?" His voice was calm, almost amused. He reached into his vest pocket, pulling out his tin of smokes before lighting one up.

Kimber swirled his drink. "Outside Cheltenham." A pause. "My bookies seem to be havin' a run of bad luck. Robberies, fires. Ain't that somethin'?"

Evelyn kept her breathing steady, but her pulse was hammering. She had no idea that Thomas had been attacking Kimber's tracks after their first confrontation. But hearing it out loud made the twins presence so much clearer.

Kimber didn't control the races anymore. Danior did. And he was probably pissed.

And Thomas never outright denied a thing. He never played the fool or acted like he hadn't already calculated his response. Instead, he merely tilted his head, giving Kimber a slow, measured once-over.

"That is something," he said, his tone mild. He pulled the smoke hard, taking a deep drag. "Sounds like you've got a problem."

Kimber's grin thinned. "Aye. And I don't like problems."

For a moment, no one moved. Evelyn could feel Mircea and Mihai watching. Not directly, not openly, but they were listening. Measuring every word, forming their reports like the lap dogs they were.

Kimber exhaled through his nose, then plastered his usual smirk back in place. He gestured vaguely to the party, to the drinks, to the women twirling in their sequined gowns. "But that's a conversation for another time. No need to dampen the mood, eh? It's almost time for dinner."

Evelyn swallowed the rest of her whiskey and set the glass down beside Thomas's. Her fingers twitched at her sides, but she folded them neatly together, forcing them still.

"Why didn't you tell me you were still hitting the tracks?" she asked Thomas, her tone low enough so no one would overhear.

Thomas glanced at her, "Well, technically, it's not me. It's the Lees."

Evelyn pursed her lips, "Tommy."

"Evelyn," he responded with a smirk, "I'm going to use everything at my disposable to draw Danior out. And it's starting to work."

She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch Mircea's gaze. It was fleeting — half a second at most — but it was there. Just another bullet point on that report.

The group soon moved to the dining room, and just as Evelyn predicted, dinner was another performance.

Evelyn made sure to seat herself between Thomas and John, keeping her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression composed as the conversation twisted and turned around her. She ate little, drank steadily, and spoke not at all. Silence was golden — she learned better that way. Evelyn kept her focus where it mattered.

Mircea and Mihai were positioned a few seats away, appearing relaxed, indifferent even — but she knew better. And though they hadn't so much as looked in her direction at dinner, she felt them like a weight at her back.

Thomas, beside her, was the only one who understood exactly what was happening beneath the surface. He hadn't tried to coax her into conversation, nor had he acknowledged the twins beyond what was necessary. He was careful. Deliberate — keeping tabs on them just as much as she was. Silently, they worked as a team, despite never establishing they would.

She was beginning to like that about him.

Eventually, after the plates were cleared, cigars were lit once again and the party resumed. This time, though, with free rein of the foyer and sitting room. She kept close to Thomas's side and kept drinking. It wasn't enough to dull her edge, but it loosened something inside her, made it easier to sit there and pretend she didn't feel the eyes of her father's men boring into her skull.

"I thought you said we were going to have fun." Evelyn remarked to Thomas with a long sigh. They had been standing in front of Kimber's fireplace, the embers warming the back of her legs. "Do you have a smoke?"

Thomas nodded once, pulling out his pack and handing one to Evelyn. She placed it between her lips delicately.

"You're not having fun?" Thomas asked, a hint of amusement behind his voice as he held his lighter in the space between them. Click — a flame. Evelyn inhaled, watching the paper burn and the tobacco light.

"Not particularly," Evelyn said between the smoke falling from her lips. A rush of nicotine took over, her head buzzing, "But the whiskey is helping."

Thomas chuckled, "Well, there's some snow over there if you are looking for something a bit more stimulating."

She flicked her eyes to the center of the room, just as a woman bent over a table with one nostril plugged and a rolled bill in the other. When she straightened, she smiled, her eyes red-rimmed and bright.

"That's not exactly my idea of a good time," Evelyn turned back to Thomas. Silently, he plucked her cigarette from her mouth before taking a drag himself, his blue eyes darkening.

"What's your idea of a good time, then?"

Something in her stirred, the effects of the alcohol becoming ever present. Her eyes traveled to his lips, then back again, the urge to taste them taking over.

Her thoughts were broken by John, who appeared next to them. He was out of breath, his cheeks flushed. "Tom."

He blinked, his playful nature dissipating within seconds. He handed Evelyn her cigarette, though it almost gone, "What is it, John?"

"Arthur — outside," John panted, attempting to take a breath. He swallowed loudly, "He's fucking drunk and he's fighting."

"Fuck," Thomas groaned quietly. In an instant, he was all business, placing his empty glass of whiskey on the mantel behind him. He gave Evelyn another pass over, "Stay out of trouble, yeah?"

The pair disappeared into the foyer — followed closely by Mircea and Mihai. It didn't take long for Kimber, ever the gracious host, to make his way toward her, sliding into the spot Thomas had briefly vacated.

"You're awful quiet tonight," he observed, swirling his glass. Up close, he reeked — stale alcohol on his breath that had been soured from dinner and the cigars.

Evelyn tilted her head, regarding him with a polite, unreadable smile. "Should I be louder?"

Kimber chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. "Depends on what you'd have to say."

"I find that men like you prefer their women silent," she replied smoothly.

That made him grin, teeth flashing in the dim candlelight. "That's where you'd be wrong, love. I like a woman with a bit of bite." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a secret. "Though I reckon the company you keep has you on your best behavior."

Evelyn arched a brow, unimpressed. "And what do you reckon I'd be like otherwise?"

Kimber studied her, eyes dark with amusement. "More fun, I'd hope. Where's girl at the tracks that held a gun at my head?"

She held his gaze a moment longer, before she leaned in close. "Well, Mr. Kimber, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I try to be on my best behavior when my father is watching."

His smile dropped instantly, his eyes squinting as if to get a better look at her. "You brought trouble into my house, girl, and I don't like it."

Evelyn blinked, "Mr. Kimber, if you had any sense at all, you'd know I would never show up to your fucking house alone."

He didn't appreciate this open insult. Most men with ego's didn't like when women made note of their flaws.

"Your father wanted to make you an offer," he seethed in a low tone, "One that you should consider."

Evelyn snorted, her annoyance building. Why didn't he just show his fucking face, instead of hiding behind his men? If he was so untouchable, then where the hell was he?

"I'm sure that's what he wants me to think, but you can tell him, whatever it is, that I don't want it."

Kimber exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a smirk. "Shame that." He knocked back the last of his whiskey, slamming the empty glass next to the one Thomas left. "Enjoy the rest of your night, love."

Evelyn didn't watch him go.

Instead, she let the warmth of the alcohol settle into her limbs, let it replace the sharp unease that had been pressing down on her all evening. The whiskey softened the edges of her anger, turned it into something she could mold.

And it gave her just enough audacity to do what she had wanted to do all night.

The party had thinned by the time she made her way outside. The night was cool, the air crisp against her flushed skin as she stepped onto the gravel path leading to the carriages and automobiles lined along the drive.

She could make out the silhouettes of the Shelby brothers in the distance, both John and Thomas clearly trying to calm Arthur. Off to the side stood a woman and her date, the man's face covered in blood and the woman's drenched in tears.

That's when she spotted Mircea and Mihai, standing just beyond the glow of the lanterns, speaking in low voices near one of the parked cars. They looked at ease, but Evelyn knew it was an illusion. They were waiting. Watching.

Something burned in her chest, hot and volatile, and before she could think better of it, she moved toward them, her heels crunching against the gravel.

They heard her approach but didn't acknowledge her until she was close enough that they had no choice. Mircea turned first, his sharp features unreadable, while Mihai exhaled slowly, as if already tired of what was coming. Beneath the shadows of the lanterns, Mihai's scar was elongated, stretching from the corner of his temple to edge of his chin.

"If my father has something to say to me," she said, her voice cool but steady, "he should be man enough to say it himself."

Mircea and Mihai exchanged a glance.

Mihai sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Evelyn —"

"No." She cut him off, stepping closer. "I don't want to hear whatever excuses you've rehearsed. I want you to deliver a message." She looked between them, her blood hot, her tongue looser than it should have been. "Tell him I see him. Tell him I know what this was." Her fingers curled into her palm. "And tell him I'm not afraid. I'm coming for my fucking son."

A beat of silence.

Then Mircea, ever the more unreadable of the two, tilted his head. "A bold claim from someone who's spent the last two years in hiding."

"Tell me, cousin," Mihai lulled, "How much is Mr. Shelby paying you? Or are you still opening your legs for free?"

She felt her jaw twitch, but her composure stayed in check. "He's a fucking coward. You all are."

For the first time, something like amusement flickered in Mihai's gaze. "We'll be sure to let him know how brave you sounded after a few glasses of whiskey."

Evelyn smiled tightly. "You do that."

Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding, her fists still clenched at her sides. She didn't look back. She kept her head high, focusing on each slippery step across gravel as she made her way towards Thomas, John, and Arthur.

If Danior wanted to play games, then fine.

But she had just made one thing clear — she knew the rules. And now, Danior was waiting to see how well she played the game.

And she wasn't playing to lose.