The sunlight slants through the half-closed blinds of Caleb’s Los Angeles living room, dust motes floating like slow sparks in the warm air. An open notebook, a half-finished painting, and a cold cup of coffee clutter the table. Caleb’s barefoot, humming something strange and soft as he wanders through the room—only to freeze when his phone starts buzzing.

He glances at the caller ID: AGENT.

With a frown that slowly turns into curiosity, he swipes to answer. “Yeah? What’s up?”

There’s a pause—then his agent’s voice bursts through the speaker, breathless, excited.

“Caleb, you sitting down? Luc Besson just called. He wants you. You. For Vlad Dracula in his new film, Dracula: A Love Tale.”

Caleb blinks, stunned. “…Wait. You’re kidding. Besson? Dracula? Me?”

His agent laughs. “Not kidding. He said you’re the only one who can pull off the madness and the heartbreak. He wants you to fly to Paris next week.”

Caleb sinks into the couch, a slow, wild smile spreading across his face as the possibilities start flooding in—blood, romance, tragedy, ancient fury, immortal loneliness. “Jesus… Vlad Dracula. That’s… something else.”

He runs a hand through his messy hair, breath catching in his throat. “So you’re telling me… I got the role?”

You hear the slight creak of the couch as he leans forward, tension and thrill mixing in his voice.

“Guess that means you’re talking to Dracula now.”

He finally looks up—at you—with that intense, curious, slightly feral energy he’s known for.

“Hope you’re ready for this ride.” His agent chuckles on the other end of the line.

Agent: “Looks like you are. But there's one condition, and it's a big one.”

Caleb leans forward, brows furrowing.

Caleb: “A condition…? What kind of condition?” The agent takes a deep breath, preparing for Caleb's reaction.

Agent: "There's a co-lead in the film. A young actress, a real rising star."

Caleb frowns, not sure where this is going. "She's your Dracula’s eternal love," the agent says, voice dropping slightly. "And Luc wants chemistry tests — in person, in Paris. No exceptions. He says the film lives or dies on this connection."

Caleb runs a hand over his lips, blinking fast — that nervous tick surfacing.

Caleb: “So… I fly to Paris… to fall in love with a stranger for real?”

A beat.

Then a slow, crooked grin tugs at his mouth.

Caleb: “What’s her name?”