A/N: during the part when Michael Viremonthe spoke otherworldly words, it was I'm this ««»» symbol and the translation followed suite bellow the foreign tongues, Incase of future reference.
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"So even now, you still refuse me?" said the red-haired boy, his voice silky yet laced with irritation. He sat with his legs crossed in a luxurious hotel suite overlooking the neon-lit skyline of Tokyo. Rich red curtains draped the windows, filtering in the faint moonlight. Crystal glasses rested untouched on the mahogany table between him and the girl seated across from him.
Akane Mikazuki met his eyes with a cold stare, her arms folded as if to barricade herself from his presence. Her midnight-black hair framed her pale face like an artist's brushstroke—perfect, sharp, and immovable.
