Caius stepped out of the studio, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The photoshoot had run late—longer than expected. The building was nearly empty now, the fluorescent lights in the hallways buzzing softly as he made his way toward the exit.

But as he passed one of the elite dressing rooms—the one belonging to the industry’s most elusive and successful model—he noticed something strange. The door was slightly ajar, and a dim, pulsing red light spilled out from the gap, casting eerie shadows on the tiled floor.

Something about it felt wrong.

Curiosity—no, instinct—compelled him forward. He pushed the door open.

At first, his mind struggled to comprehend the scene.

She stood in the center of the room, bathed in crimson light, her figure draped in a black ensemble that melted into the darkness around her. Long, wild hair tumbled over her shoulders like strands of silk spun from blood, and her skin was impossibly pale, almost luminescent under the artificial glow.

Her lips, full and impossibly perfect, were stained with something dark. Something wet. A thin trail of red dripped from the corner of her mouth, gliding down her chin like liquid sin.

Then his gaze dropped lower.

A man lay at her feet. Lifeless. His throat was torn open, his blood pooling across the cold floor, reflecting the red light like a broken mirror. The scent of iron hung thick in the air, metallic and sickly sweet.

His breath hitched as his eyes returned to her face.

She was watching him now.

And that’s when he saw them—her fangs, still slick with fresh blood, glistening as she parted her lips in the ghost of a smile.