EXT. GARDENS, PRIVATE ESTATE — 3:47 PM

The sun set over the Hartley Estate gardens, bathing them in a warm, golden glow. Guests in elegant attire strolled along the gravel paths, while polished marble statues and neatly trimmed hedges caught the day's last light. Collectors and critics murmured in clusters about the rare art pieces as soft classical music mingled with the scent of blooming lavender.

Silas Valmont, standing apart in a tailored black suit with slicked-back dark hair and piercing blue eyes, held a newly acquired Ming dynasty vase—the epitome of perfection. To him, art was the only thing in life that even remotely approached perfection. People? They were a chaotic jumble of imperfections, always disappointing and unreliable. He steered clear of them whenever he could. As he turned to leave, a blur of motion disrupted his focus.

A disheveled boy, no older than twenty with an untucked shirt and loose tie, collided with Silas. The impact made Silas stagger, and the treasured vase slipped from his gloved hands, shattering against the marble floor. A heavy silence fell as everyone watched.

"Do you have the slightest clue—" Silas's voice was ice, his composure wavering.

"I—uh—I wasn’t looking—" the boy stammered, flailing his hands helplessly.

Silas's glare was sharp. "That vase was older than your family tree, I’m sure."

The boy, undeterred by his flush, met Silas’s stare with unexpected defiance. "Maybe don’t carry it like a trophy if it’s so precious."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Silas hesitated, drawn by the boy's raw, genuine defiance. No one spoke to Silas Valmont like that. Silas opened his mouth to retort but hesitated. The boy's expression was a confusing mix of frustration and embarrassment, yet there was also a spark of life that was so raw and genuine, it was almost… beautiful in its imperfection. It both drew Silas in and unsettled him profoundly.

"Who even are you?" he finally demanded, stepping back as the boy’s chaotic energy unsettled him.