"They say those first impressions are the only ones that even remotely matter, and, they are exactly as described: what someone thinks of you the first time they see you. It sets the tone of your entire relationship with that person and inadvertently affects too, how they will think of you, talk about you, and most importantly, how likely they are to bring an army of renegades to your proverbial door. The last one does also depend on a lot of other factors but never the less, having made a good first impression never hurt anyone. whoever said that was not wrong. In fact, I applaud them, they had both the socialite world and the unpredictable business one down to a T. It was the one thing I didn't understand as a child, in my first sparkling ball gown, waiting to step into my first proper social calendar event as my own person and not with my father or some kind of respectable escort. In hindsight, I was a right spoilt brat back then, from the way a treated my guests to my entirely too haughty demeanour, I'm not surprised at how quickly people turned on me. With hindsight and if I had to do it all again, there would definitely be aspects I would change, I was a horrible child and even now, thinking back, I don't even want to be associated with my younger self, never mind admit that I once was her.
This time around, I'll try my absolute best to leave the best first impression, however, whether that will happen or not is a different story. After all, when on earth does everything always go right? Where would be the fun in that?"
Selena Yingyue Zhao had been up since 5:30 in the morning, not of her own volition, but because her racing brain wouldn't physically let her lie in her bed, motionless, any longer. She had spent the first half an hour ransacking her wardrobe, turning the entire thing upside down. Her room looked like the aftermath of some kind of a mutant natural disaster had hit the spacious room and turned it into the most expensive clothes dump anyone had ever seen and then spent the subsequent hour meticulously folding everything back into their neat squares and hanging all of her garments back onto their respective hangers, her part-time work in RQY Fashions during her last year in university serving her well as she had trained under the eagle-eyed Madmoiselle Yvres herself. She had narrowed it down to two options of attire for her first day of work in Zhao Hai Industries as the new provisional CEO, at least for the first year. The first which she had picked out the night before after scrolling through a mountain of images of various female leaders on Google and Pinterest, had spent the majority of her frantic wardrobe revamp, safely out of the line of fire, on a hook behind her bedroom door. She had laid out a black woollen jumper shirt with silk sleeves and delicately embroidered silk applique flowers which had been carefully picked out in gold thread. With this, she had paired a black and white checkered skirt which came to about three inched above the knees, black sheer tights and a pair of modest white heels she had been gifted by her previous mentor when she had left RQY after graduation.
She stared at her first outfit for a while, letting a comforting silence settle all around her and tried to imagine herself walking through the revolving glass doors and into the offices and shook her head after an image of all her now fellow female co-workers were wearing. Most of them had white shirts and black skirts or trousers and they had sneered at her first choice of clothes with the white flowing blouse and heels she had donned for the reading of her father's last will as well as the division of assets. Yingyue eyes her wardrobe critically and shot up to pull together an outfit straight off of the hangers. She slipped the second outfit on and stared at herself in the mirror. She had on a white halter blouse and floor-length black chiffon skirt and as she shrugged on a smart black blazer. There was something that didn't quite sit right with Zhao Yingyue about this outfit. It was generic, yes. It was modest and professional, yes. But, it felt like she was trying to shove herself into the role of someone that she just wasn't, as the image that she had always imagined being what CEO's and majority shareholders of companies should look like. She stood there for a while, deep in thought, while her frantic fingers drummed continually on her thigh in the fingering pattern of another of her favourite violin pieces, finding solace and comfort in the familiarity of something she learnt to love as a child.
As much as she wanted to give off the best first impression possible and kid herself that her walking into the offices, the title and everything else her father had left her would mean a clean slate. However, in her heart of hearts, she knew she didn't have that fresh start that she so desperately wanted to believe she could have. As much as she wanted to appear fresh and young but fierce and ready to take on the world, that was simply not the way that everyone else saw her.
The media attention that the death of her father had sparked hadn't helped. Elise had told her on their long town car ride from the Zhao Mansion that the media had been very quick to put out the final verdict to condemn her as the child socialite she had debuted as almost four years ago, describing her as the damned heathen that would inevitably sink the Titanic-like operation that her father had built up. Yingyue did not doubt that the public jury had also passed a similar judgement and that she would not be faced with anything other than an icy reception fit for an ice queen. Elise had her under the strictest of instructions to not go online or even glance at the newspaper that she had subscribed to and Yingyue guessed that that must be the reason why.
She shrugged off her alternative, second outfit, wrapped herself in her bathrobe and got to start on her morning routine, showering drying her hair and meticulously curling it into soft waves before deftly avoiding her makeup bag and her signature dark eye makeup she favoured whenever she felt even the slightest out of her comfort zone and instead opted for a light tinted moisturiser, eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss. After carefully putting on her first chosen outfit and praying to no one and nothing in particular that she hadn't somehow committed social suicide with her choice of clothing, Yingyue slipped her white heels and her charm necklace on, double-checked her bag and stole a glance at herself in the hallway mirror before locking the door behind her before she could change her mind and run back to hide from the big bad world.
The town car ride through the streets was nerve-wracking, to say the least, and Yingyue didn't know what exactly to do with herself on the short fifteen minute drive. her fingers drummed erratically and her heart pulsed so hard like it was going to beat straight out of her chest at any moment. All too soon the car pulled to a stop and the driver motioned for her to get off.
It took her almost three attempts to even work up the courage to open the door handle and then as she tried to step out, she was blinded by a sea of flashes and smoke, not unlike that of old Hollywood cameras from her beloved golden-age films. Her legs suddenly gave way, as if the bones holding her up had suddenly been liquified leaving behind something that Yingyue didn't know how to control. She stumbled and shot her palms out to steady herself, wincing as they connected with the hard concrete. Her palms smarted and she swung her hair around to hide the tears that suddenly sprung to her eyes as she hissed out in pain. The cameras clicked. And clicked. And then as if someone had turned down the volume on the entire world, the noise dimmed as a rush of blood pounded in Yingyue's ears took over. She pushed herself up and dusted herself down, straightened her clothes and rearranged her hair.
Taking hold of her bag which had fallen, she plastered on a weak smile before reconfiguring her facial expressions to that of casual indifference. The clicks resumed in all their frantic glory and she forced herself to block out the chatter of the cameramen and reporters, thrusting their microphones at her face, glare pointedly at the security detail who had been occupying themselves with idle chatter rather than their actual jobs.
'The First Day Of A New Reign' The afternoon papers would no doubt proclaim. Well. That's one way to put it.