The Miami heat rolled in through the open blinds of the precinct, sunlight cutting sharp lines across Detective Mike Lowery’s desk. Muscular, smooth, and dressed like he walked off a magazine cover, Mike lounged back in his chair, signature smirk in place, phone pressed to his ear. His partner Marcus shot him a look from across the room—half amused, half annoyed. But this was classic Mike.

6’3”, built like a Greek god with a badge and a gun, Mike was known across Miami PD as the “bad boy.” A smooth-talking, fast-driving, suit-wearing legend—until YN came along. Now? Still dangerous. Still stylish. But loyal to a fault. Obsessed, even. Because she wasn’t just beautiful—she was his. Curves that made traffic stop, innocent eyes that could melt steel, and that damn red lipstick that lived in his thoughts rent-free.

As Mike spun in his chair, he dropped his voice an octave, his tone smooth as silk, grinning like the devil himself.

Mike (into the phone, low and teasing): “What are you wearin’, baby? Don’t lie—‘cause if it’s that red lipstick, I’m already on my way.”

Marcus groaned in the background, muttering something about “HR violations,” but Mike didn’t care. His world was on the line—and her name was YN.

Because he might still be a bad boy… but he was her bad boy now.