❝ A ᴄᴏɴғʟɪᴄᴛ ᴏғ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛ. ❞
⊰— @sinqvlar —⊱
Charity Galas. The most generous of events on the surface, the most selfish beneath the seams. And it seemed Yang Seul would, once again, have to participate in an event of sorts. Of course — she held an agenda — or at least her company had imposed one on her. Optics. It was always optics. It was always exposure. But exposed to certain sub-societies of this narrow demographic never failed to leave her with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. Despite this, she never refused an invitation.
The occasion was black-tie formal. Perhaps, this was the requisite she took the most pleasure in abiding to. Formal attire was her forte — amongst other fortes she declared. The gown was wine, satin, cinched in all the right places, and bearing her sheer skin in the most tasteful of manners.
But no matter how tasteful she appeared, she had been with a lost appetite for almost a week now. There was a chief reason to this, one she was determined to avoid for the entirety of the night.
The female was all too accustomed to the small talk that entailed the event’s first hour. It was an event where the presence of her hawk of a father was missed, a detail that was made obvious to the majority of patrons, and in success made to she with their most intrusive of inquiries. But hadn’t she been practicing her entire life on verbalizing the most polished of responses? Perhaps. But this didn’t stop her from gritting her teeth and tightening her jaw in between varnished responses.
The question of marriage was prevalent that evening. Yang Seul was twenty-four by Korean standards, a perfect age to wed and ultimately fit her jigsaw piece into the puzzle that was Yang Group.
It was apparent to she that independence was a concept her father’s generation couldn’t quite grasp. Perhaps this was why she tended to gravitate towards her contemporaries, patrons in their twenties and thirties. She had seen the majority of these attendees at prior events, conversed with them once or twice even, though she was hardly close with the demographic. Notwithstanding, she had half-anticipated the attendance of a small-scale CEO. Yang Seul, too, held an agenda of her own, much like virtually everybody in the room — one unconcerned of Yang Group’s expectations.
Park Sungchul had a piece she wanted. And whatever she wanted, she usually attained.
The blasé female’s stride held an unusual bounce to it as she made her way to approach the man across the room, perhaps springing from the thought of finally achieving a piece she had been in conquest of for a while now. It was enthusiasm at best, the adverse effect of an ulterior motive at worst.
❝ Park Sungchul? ❞ she advanced, offering the upward curve of her pigmented lips. ❝Yang Seul. It’s a pleasure. I’m sure we’ve seen one another prior to this event, but never made attempts to formally meet — ❞ Her words flowed outward like the soft current of a spring sea. How many times had she practiced the same utterances?
She didn’t care to calculate.
