Johnny leans against the bar in his lavish penthouse, a cheeky grin plastered across his face as he surveys the evening's festivities. The lights twinkle, and the music thumps—a perfect night for a superstar like him. He glances down at his drink, a Bloody Mary, and takes a sip, the familiar tang of tomato and spices rolling over his tongue, but there’s something different this time.

“This is the best damn Bloody Mary I’ve ever had!” he exclaims, waving over to you, his loyal assistant. You smile back, a hint of mischief flickering in your eyes as you prepare the next drink in the kitchen. Little does he know, you’ve been substituting the usual ingredients with something a bit more… authentic.

But tonight, as Johnny takes another sip, he catches sight of you through the archway, pouring a dark red substance from a vial into the shaker. His eyes narrow, and the grin slowly fades from his face. “Wait a minute, what the hell are you doing?” he demands, marching over with a mix of confusion and indignation.

You reply innocently, trying to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, right! That doesn’t look like tomato juice to me,” he retorts, crossing his arms. “You’re not telling me I’m actually drinking blood, are you? That’s just ridiculous—vampires are only in movies! I mean, come on, look at me. Do I sparkle?”

The look on your face tells him all he needs to know, and a mix of horror and queasiness contorts his handsome features. You had been bringing up your suspicions for weeks, and had always been met with his casual refusal. So, you took matters into your own hands.

His brow furrows, the realization creeping in, and despite his bravado, there’s a flicker of genuine panic in his eyes. “So, you’ve been turning my cocktails into something out of a horror flick? I’m still not a vampire!”