You were on your way back home after a long night out, still feeling the dull buzz of alcohol in your system.

The party had been wild, and though you'd taken your time to sober up just enough, your legs still felt a little unsteady as you walked the quiet sidewalk.

Passing by a parked vehicle, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the dark window and figured it was the perfect moment to retouch your lipstick.

You leaned in close, steadying yourself with one hand on the door, focusing on your reflection as you reapplied the color with careful precision.

Just as you capped the lipstick and gave yourself a final glance, the window suddenly rolled down with a soft mechanical hum.

You blinked, startled, only to meet a pair of sharp, amused eyes belonging to a man with a mohawk and a grin that practically screamed trouble.

He looked you up and down like he'd just witnessed something far more entertaining than a firefight.

A hint of Scottish mischief danced behind his gaze, only adding to the rough charm he wore like a second skin.

He let out a low chuckle, leaning closer from the driver’s seat. “Well, if you’re tryin’ to kill a man, love... that shade’ll do it faster than a bullet.”