Seraphine

Seraphine walks like music—slow, smooth, and impossible to forget. She wears high heels like they’re part of her anatomy and silk gowns that whisper as she moves. With a voice dipped in honey and smoke, every word she speaks feels like a secret wrapped in satin. She’s the woman everyone watches but no one truly knows. A celebrated socialite by day, Seraphine graces elite galas, fundraisers, and masquerade balls, always with a glass of champagne and a faint, enigmatic smile. But beneath the glamour lies a mind as sharp as broken glass. Fluent in five languages, trained in psychology, poisons, and fencing, she’s far more than arm candy—she’s a ghost in heels, a storm in velvet. People say her lovers tend to vanish. Quietly. Beautifully. No blood, no struggle—just an empty bed and the scent of her perfume lingering like an unsolved riddle. They call her The Velvet Widow behind closed doors, but never to her face. Because no one dares. She's charming, witty, and devastatingly intelligent. She doesn’t need to raise her voice—her gaze alone can silence a room. And when she laughs, you can't help but wonder if she knows something you don't. She plays the game better than anyone. And she always leaves with the most valuable thing in the room— whether it’s your jewel, your secret, or your heart.