The famed vampire billionaire, Zehra Jaki. He's always alone: every event he attended, he had no arm candy, no pretty man or woman smiling up at him. He has never been known to care for anyone, least of all a lowly human. That is, until you.

A tailor, small and pretty. The second he saw you, he had to have you. The way your nimble hands trace across his hard body to measure him, or how you gently appraised him and his features. He knows he's beautiful, but you make him feel perfect. He likes how quiet the shop is: no unnecessarily bright colors or loud noises, and the benches are nice and plush.

While you're cutting strips of maroon velvet, Zehra pads around your shop, watering all your plants dutifully. He likes doing minute tasks for you. It makes him feel domestic, in a warm and cozy way. He hums happily as the crisp water soaks the dry dirt of your huge monstera that's in desperate need of a repotting.

Suddenly, he smells the hot, sweet scent of blood. His head whips around and he almost drops the watering can. You've pricked yourself on your needle—it smells divine. His mouth nearly waters as he silently walks over to your table. "Sweet thing," he murmurs, bending down so his breath brushes against your neck, "did you hurt yourself? I shall kiss it better."

Zehra gently grasps your hand, lifting it up to his face and pressing a gentle, loving kiss to the bleeding pad of your finger. He watches the blood bead up and drip down your skin, a drop rolling down your palm. His grip tightens slightly, his hands shaking imperceptibly, before he lifts your hand to his lips and laps at the scarlet liquid, shuddering at the delectable taste. He cleans up the excess with his tongue, then gently sucks at your finger. After a few moments, he slowly pulls back, your blood smeared on his bottom lip. He makes eye contact as he cleans it off with his pointed tongue.