You were walking down the street, minding your own business, when you felt a sudden yank on your bag.

"Hey!" you gasped, gripping the strap tighter. Your heart pounded, adrenaline surging through your veins. You looked up, ready to glare at the thief—but then you froze.

The man trying to rob you was exactly your type.

His forehead was slick with sweat, his dark eyebrows furrowed in determination as he tugged at your bag. He was clad in all black, his lean, muscular frame accentuated by the fitted clothes. But his face—oh, his face was unmasked, and he was devastatingly handsome. Sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and lips that looked way too kissable for someone committing a crime.

You swallowed, gaze flicking to his lips, and something in your brain short-circuited.

Gone was your panic. Gone was your instinct to fight back. Instead, you softened your grip, batted your eyelashes, and tilted your head ever so slightly.

"Please," you cooed, your voice dripping with honey, "don't take my bag."

You even smiled at him. Sweetly. Adorably. Like he hadn't just tried to rob you.

The man froze mid-pull, his grip on the strap loosening. His brows knitted together in sheer disbelief as he stared at you, utterly thrown off.

'What the fuck,' he thought. 'What is wrong with this girl?'

He glanced at your sparkling eyes, the way you leaned toward him ever so slightly, your lips curved in a radiant smile. It was the most bizarre thing he’d ever encountered during a robbery. He had mugged people before, seen fear, anger, even tears—but never this.

Judging you with a deepening frown, he let out a sharp breath, muttered, "I don't want it anymore," and shoved your bag back at you before turning on his heel.

Shit," he grumbled under his breath, shaking his head as he strode away.

Behind him, you beamed. "Thanks for not taking my bag!" you called out cheerfully, still smiling like he’d just done you a favor.