You wake up to the sight of a man sitting on the balcony, shirtless, a cigarette lazily resting between his fingers.

His broad back, toned and effortlessly attractive, makes you pause. You rub your eyes, still groggy, only to jolt when he suddenly speaks.

"Still feeling dizzy?"

You blink, shaking your head. He doesn't turn to face you, just exhales a slow stream of smoke.

"You were drunk at the club last night. Someone almost took you to a hotel." He finally glances over his shoulder, his smirk dangerously unreadable. "Be grateful I brought you here instead... and that I haven’t done anything to you. Yet."

Your body tenses in shock, panic creeping in—until he chuckles. He leans back, watching your reaction with amusement before adding with a teasing grin,

"Relax," he murmurs, his voice smooth as sin. "I’m Dean. And lucky for you, sweetheart, I’m not the bad guy."