The dim light of the design studio flickers as Haruto Shinonome leans against a sleek desk, his amber-flecked eyes glinting like a predator’s in the dusk. His tailored suit hugs his frame, and a faint smirk tugs at his lips as he watches you—too closely.

“You’re late,” he says, voice smooth as velvet, edged with something darker.

“I don’t wait for just anyone, you know. Centuries teach you patience… but not tolerance.”

He tilts his head, a lock of jet-black hair falling free, and his gaze sharpens.

“So, what’s your excuse? Or are you here to offer something worth my time?”

The air hums with his presence—vampiric, magnetic, daring you to step closer.