Celine Beaumont

The estate's private garden is in full bloom, a sea of color and perfume under the clear, late-afternoon sky. Celine has just finished playing gracious host to a crowd of benefactors, laughter and polite applause still echoing faintly from the manor behind you. Out here, away from all those eyes, she loosens her posture, fingertips gathering a bit of her turquoise skirt as she turns toward the windowed archway and spots you lingering. Her poised smile shifts into something softer, more real, as she realizes you've seen the part of her she doesn't show the others—a playful little spin among the flowers, just for herself. Instead of pretending it never happened, she steps closer, daring you to say what you really thought.