The click of our heels on the pavement sets a rhythmic backdrop to our laughter, the kind that follows a good lunch with a friend. Hyemi's recounting the latest office gossip when the purr of an engine draws near. A sleek black Audi eases up beside us, and my heart trips when the window rolls down and Inha's handsome face peers out, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, hair pushed back over his brow, black strands sliding over his forehead artfully. His playful smirk framed by the open window.
"Little Wifey," he calls out, his voice teasing, "what would you say if I told you that I intend to kidnap you for a bit of adventure?"
I give Inha a bemused smirk. "Most kidnappers don't forewarn their victims. I don't think you're a very good assailant," I tease him.
"Well, normally my charm and wit are enough to entice my victims," he drawls, lowering the sunglasses to wink at me.
I giggle, hiding my smile behind a hand, "A true villain."
Inha jerks his head at the passenger seat, "Come on. I promise I have only the worst intentions."
I bite my lip to keep in my grin, lest it encourage him. I do hesitate, because it's the middle of the workday and I've only just gotten back.
Hyemi nudges me with her elbow, a knowing grin spreading across her face. "Go on," she urges, "it's not every day a chariot pulls up offering to whisk you away."
I bite my lip, amusement dancing through me. The offer is tempting—a spontaneous break from routine with Inha could be just what I need to bridge the distance between us. But then there's work, the responsibilities waiting...
Hyemi reads my hesitation and gives me a gentle push toward the car. "We've got everything covered here," she winks, "get back to being in love."
The thought settles it. I approach the car, leaning down to meet Inha's expectant gaze. "You look like trouble," I tease back.
Inha laughs, a sound that makes me feel like glowing. "The good kind." He leans over to open the passenger door from inside. "Come on, copilot. We have time to make up for."
I slide into the leather seat, still warm from the sun, and let out a slow breath, feeling the tension from the morning's meetings ease out of my shoulders. "You know, I could get in trouble for this. I've been gone from work so many days already," I say, buckling my seatbelt as Inha pulls smoothly into traffic.
He glances at me, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I've already spoken to your boss. They're aware you'll be off for the rest of the afternoon."
I raise an eyebrow, both impressed and slightly admonishing. "You have a lot of confidence in your persuasive abilities."
Inha's chuckle fills the car. "Let's just say I can be very convincing when I want to be."
I shake my head, a smile playing on my lips despite myself. It's hard to stay put out with him when he's looking at me like that—like I'm the only thing that matters in his world right now.
As we glide through the city, I can't help but marvel at Inha's audacity. He's pulled me from my day with nothing but a charming grin and a vague promise of adventure. The comfortable confidence it must take to rearrange someone's schedule on a whim. But then again, this is Inha—confidence woven into his very being, the sort of man who believes the world bends to his will. And often, it seems to.
I glance at him, taking in the relaxed set of his shoulders, the casual way he commands the car through the streets. How does he have the authority to whisk me away from work without so much as a by-your-leave? Then it clicks—the weight his family name carries in this city, their empire sprawling across Seoul's skyline in steel and glass monuments to wealth and power.
His mother's company didn't just build half of Gangnam; they shaped the entire district's economy. People tend to leap when the Kang family says jump. It's not just respect—it's necessity. If Inha wants something, he gets it, not only because he's persuasive, but because saying no to a Kang has consequences few are willing to face.
It makes me wonder what else has been smoothed over or expedited simply because he desired it. Does everyone bend so easily for him? Is that why his presence commands attention in any room he enters? I'm used to being self-sufficient, standing on my own two feet without relying on a family name or connections. Yet here I am, caught up in his world where influence is as easy as breathing.
I feel a twinge of something uncomfortable at that realization—a sense of dependency that doesn't sit right with me. But before I can think too much into it, Inha interrupts my thoughts.
"What's on your mind?" he asks, eyes briefly meeting mine before returning to the road. "You've got that look."
"What look?" I ask, a little too quickly.
"The 'Yena is plotting a corporate takeover' look," he teases with a lopsided smile.
I let out a soft laugh despite myself. "Just wondering how you manage to get your way so often."
Inha winks at me. "Trade secret." His tone is light, but there's an edge of truth beneath it that resonates with the authority I know he wields—a reminder of who he is outside of 'my husband.'
And for a fleeting moment, I question what my place is in this grand design of power and privilege that seems to orbit around him effortlessly.
The city's noise fades as Inha's car breezes through the outskirts, replaced by the gentle hum of nature. We pull up to a public garden tucked away from the relentless pulse of Seoul. As we step out, I breathe in the scent of fresh earth and growing things, a relief compared to the sterile tang of city air.
Inha leads me along winding paths lined with bursts of vibrant flowers, each petal and leaf swaying in the breeze. The further we walk, the quieter it becomes until all I can hear is the soft rustle of leaves in the wind and our footsteps on the gravel path.
We reach a structure crowned with glass that glimmers under the afternoon sun. The butterfly house stands like a gem set in green, its transparent walls offering glimpses of fluttering wings inside. My pulse quickens with childlike excitement at the sight.
As we enter, a kaleidoscope of colors greets us—butterflies of every hue and pattern dance in the air, alighting on just as bright flowers, fanning their wings and resting on the edges of blown glass saucers of water. The humidity wraps around us, warm and alive, and I feel my hair begin to frizz with it. I don't mind; it feels real and vibrant.
We find a bench amidst this riot of color and life, and as we sit down, I'm captivated by a particularly iridescent butterfly that lands on a nearby flower. Its wings a vivid blue.
Inha watches me for a moment before speaking. "You always loved this place," he says softly, his voice blending with the serene atmosphere around us. "We'd come here often when it was just you and me."
I turn to him. I'm interested to know how a place like this became a fixture in my life. "Really?"
He nods, his gaze holding a bit of nostalgia. "Yeah. And when it wasn't just us anymore, when the kids came along... this place became even more special."
A family outing—us with our children among these delicate creatures—it paints a heartwarming image in my mind. Even without memories to accompany it, there's an echo of joy in my chest at the thought.
The butterflies flutter around us in spirals, oblivious to human concerns.
The quietude in the butterfly garden seems more significant as I take in our solitude. "Why is it so empty?" I ask, my voice a whisper, as if speaking any louder might disturb the serenity.
Inha gives me a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a sheepish smile. "I might have asked for the place to be closed for a couple of hours," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wanted us to have some privacy."
My eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise. "Well, aren't we fancy," I tease, leaning back against the bench and watching a butterfly land on the edge of my shoe. Its wings are a stained-glass masterpiece of nature.
He chuckles, that familiar warmth radiating from him. "I used to do this sort of thing all the time to impress you," he says, his eyes not leaving the delicate creature on my foot. "Rent out a gallery so you could see an exhibit without the crowds, or book an entire restaurant so we could dine alone."
A smile tugs at my lips as I shake my head lightly. "And here I was thinking those grand gestures were just stories from romantic dramas."
Inha's hand hovers in the air, fingers reaching toward me. As his fingertips brush my cheek, the garden around us blurs, and I'm suddenly somewhere else, somewhen else.
It's this same bench, the air thick with the perfume of flowers and the warmth of a late afternoon sun filtering through the glass. A younger Inha sits beside me, a nervous energy about him that I've never seen before. His gaze flits from me to the butterflies, then back again.
"I wanted to show you something," he says, his voice hesitant yet hopeful.
"What is it?" I ask, intrigued by his uncharacteristic shyness.
Inha takes a deep breath and then leans closer. His lips meet mine in a tentative kiss that blooms into something deeper as he overcomes his initial hesitation. The flutter in my stomach rivals the wings beating around us.
The garden comes back into focus, the echo of that memory still warm on my lips. Inha's hand is still on my cheek, his eyes searching mine, looking for a sign. He leans in closer, and it's almost like I can feel the ghost of our past selves urging us together. His breath brushes against my skin, a prelude to the inevitable.
My heart races as he closes the gap between us. His lips press against mine, soft yet insistent. It's a kiss filled with longing and nostalgia, an attempt to bridge the years lost between us. I close my eyes and let myself sink into the sensation.
This time, there's no memory to accompany it—just the present moment, Inha and me in this hidden garden among the butterflies. And as he kisses me, I realize that while I may not remember our past, I'm very much here in the now, with him.
The emotions come spilling forth, an unstoppable surge, as I pull Inha closer. Our kiss deepens, fueled by the unsaid and aching. His hands frame my face, gentle yet firm, as if he's holding something precious that he once thought was beyond retrieval.
In the back of my mind, I can't help but think how similar this moment is to the memory that just flickered to life. The realization that Inha might have orchestrated this with such intimate knowledge of our past sends a shiver down my spine. Did he remember that day as vividly as the memory suggested? Did he bring me here on purpose, hoping to coax out those lost moments between us?
His lips move against mine with a tenderness that seems like more than just desire. It's an apology, a promise, a plea for the connection we lost. I'm overwhelmed by his closeness, the scent of him mixed with the earthy fragrance of the garden.
I cling to him, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if I could anchor myself with his solidness. He responds in kind, his embrace tightening around me until there's no space left between us. It feels like coming home.
Inha pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze searching for a hint of the love we used to share. His thumb brushes away a tear that escapes down my cheek—a tear I hadn't even realized I'd shed.
"We don't have to rush this," he whispers against my lips. "I just want you…to be yourself again"
His words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning. And in this secluded haven where butterflies witness our reconnection, I start to see it. The magic that brought us together in the first place.
Inha's kiss is both an ending and a beginning—a door closing on the past while another swings wide open for our future. And as we break apart to catch our breaths, chests heaving and hearts pounding in unison, I suddenly want more than anything to know him like this. As mine.