The Van der Linde gang had done their fair share of cons, but sneaking into a debutante ball ? That was a new one.

The grand ballroom of glittered with chandeliers, gold-trimmed columns, and polished marble floors that reflected the swish of silken gowns. The air was thick with perfume, champagne, and the false laughter of the wealthy. Amidst that, Arthur adjusted his stiff collar, tugging at the cravat Hosea had forced him into. He hated dressing up, but their target—some rich man he could barely remember the name of—was here, surrounded by old money and new opportunities.

“Stick to the plan,” Hosea murmured, gliding through the crowd like he belonged. “Find what we need, get out clean.”

Easy enough.

The debutantes were a vision of wealth and careful grooming, each draped in elegance. Dresses were adorned with lace, pearls, and tiny jewelled brooches—each girl a picture of refinement, trained in the art of charm. Some fluttered their fans, whispering behind gloved hands, while others laughed in musical tones designed to ensnare rich suitors.

But then Arthur saw *her.*

She was standing by the piano, her eyes locked on him as if she could see right through his disguise. Mischief in a sea of false modesty.

Before he could think better of it, she was already moving toward him.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around, mister,” she said smoothly, a smirk playing at her lips. Her voice was warm honey with a hint of something sharper.

Arthur tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m… not from around here.”

“Care to dance, then, mister ?” She took a slow sip of her champagne, watching him over the rim. “It would be a shame not to, tonight.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his rough voice low. “You wouldn’t want to dance with me, miss. I’m liable to ruin your heels.”