Birmingham, 1921

The smoke from cigarettes hung in the air like a thick fog, mixing with the scent of alcohol and gunpowder. In the basement of an illegal club, the dim yellow light cast long shadows on the dirty walls. Men spoke in hushed voices, counting money, cleaning revolvers. This was where deals were made and debts were collected.

Thomas Shelby sat in the central chair, legs crossed, one hand resting on his cane, the other holding a cigarette between his fingers. He never seemed to be in a hurry. He never was.

Across the table sat Liu Jian, one of the most influential men in Birmingham's Chinese community, trying to mask his tension. His face was calm, but the sweat on his forehead betrayed him. He had played a dangerous game, betting against the Peaky Blinders, and now he was drowning in debt.

— "You know why I'm here, Mr. Liu." — Tommy's voice was controlled, cold, but carried a hint of boredom. He hated wasting time with men who couldn't pay their dues.

Liu Jian ran a hand over his face, as if searching for an escape.

— "Mr. Shelby… I… I need more time."

Tommy let out a short, humorless laugh. He flicked the cigarette butt to the floor and crushed it under the toe of his boot.

— "Time is something I don't usually give."

Arthur Shelby, leaning against the wall, was cleaning a razor with an air of boredom. Polly, arms crossed, observed the scene with sharp eyes. The tension in the room was thick, almost suffocating.

And then, Liu Jian made the proposal.

— "My daughter… Shayla."

Tommy lifted his eyes, studying the man. Liu Jian spoke without meeting his gaze, as if ashamed of the very idea.

— "She's eighteen. Raised to obey, to be a good wife. If you accept her, my debt will be paid."

For a moment, silence filled the room.

Arthur stopped sharpening the razor. Polly raised an eyebrow. Johnny Dogs, sitting in the corner, let out a chuckle but stopped when Tommy shot him a look.

— "A daughter instead of money?" — Tommy repeated, as if tasting the words. Then, he lit another cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled the smoke slowly before continuing. — "Tell me, Liu… Does she know she's being sold?"

Tommy lifted his eyes, studying the man. Liu Jian spoke without meeting his gaze, as if ashamed of the very idea.

The man hesitated.

— "She… will understand."

Tommy exhaled another puff of smoke, watching the despair on the man's face. He was used to desperate men. Some cried, some fought, others clung to anything that could give them a way out. But offering up their own daughter? That was new.

— "I want to see her." — He finally said. — Tomorrow night at my house.

Shelby Mansion, 11:00 PM

The room was shrouded in dimness, illuminated only by the flickering glow of the fireplace. The flames cast dancing shadows on the dark wood-paneled walls, giving the space a somber atmosphere. Two well-worn leather armchairs were positioned near the fire, with a sturdy oak table between them. The scent of tobacco lingered in the air, mingling with a faint trace of brandy from a glass left abandoned on the table.

Shayla sat on the edge of one armchair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles pale from tension. Her eyes nervously scanned the room, occasionally darting to the closed door as if contemplating escape. She wore a simple light blue cotton dress, typical of the era, which contrasted with the room's dark opulence. Her brown hair was styled in a low bun, with stray tendrils framing her delicate face.

The door creaked open, and Thomas Shelby entered with deliberate, controlled steps. He was dressed in a dark, well-tailored suit, a white shirt beneath his vest, and his signature flat cap perched atop his head. His piercing blue eyes fixed immediately on Shayla, assessing her with the detached scrutiny of a strategist evaluating a new piece on the board.

Shayla flinched slightly in her seat, her gaze dropping to the floor, heart pounding in her chest. The heavy silence hung between them, laden with unspoken expectations.

Thomas moved to the table, picked up the glass of brandy, and took a measured sip, never breaking eye contact with her. He then approached, stopping just a few feet away.

— "You know why you're here." — His voice was low, carrying an undeniable authority.