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1.
When Eun-young is around fourteen, there is a boy on the next street who smiles at her whenever she passes by his house to the corner shop. Her father’s terrible temper is well-known to the neighbours, so it is a refreshing change from the downcast eyes and looks of pity. She smiles back at him sometimes, though she rarely lifts her head. She sometimes thinks about it at night, under the covers and long after her father has passed out from one of his alcoholic rages.
The girl next door sees him one day - the boy in his dark blue pants and white shirt - tentatively waiting at the gate, and leans over to Eun-young to say with feigned kindness, “You know, it’s because he feels bad for you.”
Eun-young does not pass by the boy’s house to the corner shop after that.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. Her mother dies in the front hall, all shuddering breath and blood, murdered by a weak man, and most things (except survival, and then getting out, if she can manage the first part) do not matter anymore.
2.
Eun-young is at university when she meets the professor. He teaches the criminology course. The other students are young and eager; she feels a little tired and hard around the edges by comparison. The kids try to avoid her as much as possible but she’s fine with that. She’s grown into her looks now; pale skin, glossy dark hair and warm, melting brown eyes, no longer awkward and at odds with her body. Ju-ho’s constantly fending off his friends.
Intoxicating, she thinks, listening to the professor’s voice stutter as he catches her adjusting her top.
The professor is not particularly handsome but he can be charming. She drops by his office hours and he asks her out for coffee, where he discloses - a little abashed in a way that seems performative - that he’s a good twenty years older than her. He takes her for a drive after class one day, his right hand on her knee as he navigates the hills and curves. They go to a lookout point where he leans over, kisses her, and inexpertly gropes her.
In school, Eun-young had been friends with a self-confessed fast girl, the sort you avoided if you were from a good family. Her skirts were a little too short, her shirts a little too tight and the male teachers a little too interested in punishing her for imagined infractions. The girl’s boyfriends turned up on motorbikes or cars and they all looked intimidatingly old to Eun-young.
“Are they nice to you?” It was an innocent but honest question.
“It feels nice when they buy things for me,” the girl had replied with a smirk.
She overhears girls talk about these things as they touch up their lipstick in the restroom and brush lint off each other’s outfits. About men and the things they could do for you; the things they could do to you. She has already survived the latter; the former is merely about capturing the right opportunities when they present themselves.
It isn’t that terrible. He takes her under his wing; inviting her to foreign film festivals and art galleries. His criminology classes are, in fact, interesting; she passes her notes to Ju-ho who finds them far more detailed than what they teach him at the academy. He has not expressed an interest in sleeping with her until she graduates, although they do plenty of other things till then.
One day, she reads as he marks scripts in his office when he asks: “What are you thinking of doing when you graduate?”
Eun-young knows the answer. She has since the day she grabbed the handle of a brand-new kitchen knife and drove the tip of it into herself in a Hail Mary act of desperation.
“Law school.” There’s no question of it being a question. He either knows this or does not.
The professor looks at her over the top of his glasses. His frames are a bright blue/green; they look far too young for him.
“You want to go to law school?” He frowns as he asks the question.
“Yes,” she replies with certainty.
The professor puts aside his marking and looks at her, fingers locked. She can sense a lecture coming on. It is truly surprising how much he enjoys lecturing even when he isn’t paid to do so.
“Why not think of the police, like your brother Ju-ho? That seems more your speed. They could use more women there. Especially ones like you.”
Eun-young doesn’t bother correcting him. Nor is she inclined to ask what he means by ones like you. “I’m not interested in the police.”
“You’d have to pass the entrance exams, do well in school, pass your bar exams, and that is all assuming someone gives you a chance. That takes a lot of time and money.”
Her eyes widen, and she smiles, all teeth. “I’m not looking for money. Introduce me to people. That’s all.”
-
The relationship limps on until she graduates. Eun-young is too busy studying for the entrance exams to properly consider breaking up with him, and before she knows it, graduation is upon her. Ju-ho insists they go to the ceremony, so she agrees.
The professor takes her away for a weekend to celebrate.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, sounding dazed and Eun-young cannot stop thinking about how foolish he sounds.
She takes off her shirt and steps out of her jeans. She might be older than the others, but she’s still young enough that the professor feels sanctified by her youth. It’s all she can do to avoid rolling her eyes.
It’s dark in this room by this design. It’s easy to pretend it’s because she’s new at this. His movements are perfunctory and rote; his hands are artless in their movement.
Eun-young feels bad for his ex-wife, apropos of nothing; did she endure this heavy body over hers all the time? This could get rather tiresome in the long run. There’s a point of pain when he finally moves into her, and that irritation never quite settles.
His hands finally pause when they reach the knot of scars on her right shoulder, and he stops. She can feel clammy goosebumps form on his arm.
“What is that?” He’s as quiet as before, but he sounds horrified rather than reverential now.
She is strangely unmoved by the fact that he has gone soft and slack inside her.
Eun-young looks in the mirror to freshen up and put her clothes back on. She’ll call Ju-ho to come pick her up. There’s no way she’s going to spend a weekend with this man after -- all this. She glances at him, sitting on the side of the bed in his shorts and palming around for his glasses.
“You didn’t tell me,” he says, accusatory in the mirror.
She shrugs. It’s not on her.
Her final grade is a B, which leaves her in an incandescent rage at his punitive pettiness - “I have to be fair, my dear,” he’d said with an uncomfortable laugh when she confronted him. “Can’t have the class thinking you slept your way to an A” - but he introduces her to the right people, at the very least. He does not call again. After all, there’s a new batch of criminology students to focus on.
3.
She has herself to blame for the professor, but she blames - unfairly, she knows - the policeman on Ju-ho.
The policeman is not Ju-ho’s friend, or even his acquaintance. In fact, Ju-ho asks her out that day because he wants her to meet his best friend on the force. The best friend is a kindly man with a gentle laugh. She does not see him surviving long on the force; she does not see herself dating him. Her eyes keep straying to something at her periphery, something that makes her hairs stand on end.
She goes outside for a smoke - mostly, it’s to escape from Ju-ho, his best friend, and the inexplicable strangeness grating on her nerves. She does not immediately register the man from the next table slipping beside her, standing under the eaves, and lighting his cigarette.
She asks him for a light, and he asks for her name and number.
The policeman isn’t her first since the professor, but he is a distinct presence nonetheless. He’s tall and muscular, with a dark sense of humour that appeals to her, and is persistently certain in his approach.
“I’ll pick you up after class. I’ll take you to dinner.” No questions - all demands, as if law school permits her this sort of luxury.
He pins her wrists over her head one day, mouth ghosting over her jaw and down her neck, sucking a sharp bruise over her carotid artery. Eun-young fairly melts in his arms, and he hitches her up against the wall. His movement is brutal and efficient, and Eun-young notices with some interest that it isn’t exactly unpleasant.
Ju-ho looks quietly at her when they are at breakfast one day. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt in July, and has been doing so despite it being a sweltering summer. If Ju-ho notices the marks on her wrist, he does not say anything about it directly.
“I’ve heard some things,” he says, eyes downcast.
“What things,” she asks, gulping down her coffee. She’d been up all night, first with property law, and then with the policeman.
“Well,” he says, finally looking up at her. “He has a reputation. For being a little too aggressive. With suspects. That sort of thing.”
Eun-young peers at Ju-ho. “I’m not really surprised,” she says, finally.
She really isn’t. She knows the policeman likes it a little rough; there’s no real way to communicate to Ju-ho that she might do so, too.
Police brutality, though; that might be a line she’s not prepared to endorse.
Not long after, he politely breaks up with her. He wants to get married to the girl he's just met (her father is Superintendent-General at Seoul Met, Ju-ho reports); Eun-young’s -- proclivities -- are a little peculiar. “Should a girl enjoy all of that?” He sounds genuinely disturbed, as if it would be better if she didn't.
Should you be beating suspects in custody? She’d ask the question but she doesn’t see the point. Ju-ho is relieved, though, and his brows relax for the first time in a year.
4.
Yoon Hee-jae is famous, even amongst the batches ahead of him at the institute. He was at the top of his graduating class, and his pedigree is impeccable. His father’s side of the family has produced four generations of judges; his late mother was a concert pianist. He made partner just after turning thirty and he’s dating the granddaughter of a former Minister for Justice. It doesn’t hurt that he is objectively handsome.
Geum-ja knows the type. Filthy-rich boys, the second sons of chaebols and career politicians. They all have the same fussy hair, wear the same sort of discreetly expensive suits and bespoke shoes, and have never experienced a consequence that wasn't ironed away by Mummy's money or Daddy's influence.
She's seen them in the clubs, too, buying bottle service by the thousands, girls trailing after them begging to be noticed. She has mild disdain for the girls; the energy they waste on their desperation could be better utilised on things that do not dehumanise them for sport.
Geum-ja is heading to bail court one day - the sort of grinding, tiresome work that other people would find exhausting - when she sees a huge commotion. There are swanky cars, screaming journalists and camera flashes. Yoon Hee-jae rises through the crowd, an assured, self-possessed presence, cuffs as sharp as the arrogant smirk on his face.
Her day isn’t due to start for another hour, so she decides to go see what all the fuss is about. Her bar association pass lets her in ahead of the crowd, but she hangs at the back so she can leave quickly. She wants to stay long enough to establish that he’s only where he is because his family paved the way. A mediocre man, lucky to have his mother's aristocratic looks, lucky he landed where he did. That shouldn’t take long at all.
5.
She has never been more wrong in her life.
Out in the world, Hee Sun is all hips and hair that she casually tosses over her shoulder; she has not a care in the world and has never wanted for anything. She’s not hungry the way Geum-ja is; she is not constantly starving and feral. And yet in this bed, with this man, who she could have sworn knows only lines, and how to colour inside them - Yoon Hee-jae , of all the goddamn people - how does he fill her up and somehow leave her wanting more? How was she supposed to walk away when he looks at her from under his lashes, giving her a lazy smile that masks how he moves up into her with measured precision? He’s beautiful like this, burning away everything that came before, and she’ll turn to ash too if she isn’t careful. Wake up, she thinks fiercely as she meets every stroke of his - you have to wake up, it’s not real --
6.
She isn’t sure what Hee-jae is doing.
His office area is across from hers; just the way it was at Song & Kim minus the glass and the hallway in between. They've been focused on building the business at Choong for three months now.
These past two weeks, however, have exacerbated a pre-existing weakness of hers.
Hee-jae cares a lot about his clothes. His suits are always impeccable and she imagines he spends hours at the tailor to get the sort of fit that has many women and some men panting after him. She’s never once seen him - unless he was actually about to undress - wearing anything less than his tie, jacket with every last button done up. Had there been a section about it in the Song & Kim rule book? Ji-eun would remember.
Now, though, Hee-jae is a little more flexible.
Unless he has a client coming through, he takes off his jacket by five, and loosens his tie at six. By seven he has to wear his spectacles (his eyes get too tired for contact lenses by then and he’s terrified of getting Lasik) and he removes his tie.
(Geum-ja looks away at this point. She still has to get work done).
By half past seven his suprasternal notch is visible and his sleeves are rolled up past his wrists.
There’s been no change in the weather to account for it.
The air-conditioning hasn’t changed.
None of it makes sense.
She’d ask but she doesn’t want to sound like she’s been leering at him for a fortnight, even if that is precisely what she's been up to. There’s nothing going on between them right now, nothing that would make a question like that seem normal.
“Is there something on my face?” he asks without lifting his eyes from the page in front of him. She scowls and shakes her head, returning to her own papers. She has a major hearing in a couple of days and she’d best not let this distract her.
For the first time in years, she feels like smoking.
-
Hee-jae sits at the back of the courtroom as she finishes her closing arguments. It’s rare that they can do this as their schedules don’t align to permit it much. He has a specific spot he tends to occupy, one that’s within her peripheral rather than direct line of vision. Ji-eun claims she grandstands a little more than usual when he’s around, but Geum-ja is certain that's just an exaggeration.
When the matter is ruled in her client’s favour, Hee-jae's mouth quirks imperceptibly. One more happy client, she thinks with satisfaction.
He meets her by the door. “Good job, as usual,” he says, sounding a little breathless, like he’d just been running. “Shall we? I’m done too.”
They head out to the carpark, and he walks to the passenger side as Geum-ja stares at him. “Yoon?”
He turns back to look at her.
“This is your car.”
“Oh,” he says, more to himself than to her, and stumbles past her to the driver’s side.
Geum-ja decides to take the matter by the horns when they head back. She removes her jacket and flings her bag carelessly on the floor behind the couch.
Hee-jae puts his files away in the cabinet and removes his jacket. He’s preparing to take off his tie when he notices her pacing in front of him.
“Is something the matter?” he asks, sounding puzzled.
She looks up at him, annoyed. “I don’t know! I’m trying to think," she says, walking over to his side of the table. She moves right into the space between chair and desk, and he wheels back a little in surprise, watching her folded arms and narrowed eyes with interest.
Hee-jae’s height advantage is mostly leg, so at this angle - with him leaning back in his chair, legs crossed - she stands over him. He looks up at her from behind his fussy wire-rimmed glasses, and an indolent grin slowly spreads across his face.
“You rat bastard,” she breathes at him, grabbing his tie and pulling him forward into a kiss.
Hee-jae says something that sounds like finally before he returns it, impatiently hitching her onto his desk with careful hands as they continue kissing. When they finally break apart, his face is red and he’s actually perspiring.
“It’s been two weeks, I thought you would have caved by now-” he says, in between kisses; he’s stroking the lines of her cheekbones with his thumbs, gentle and reassuring - “And today -- today in court -- I don’t even find the law of compromise hot, it makes no sense." His voice breaks as she pulls his tie off and undoes his shirt buttons, her hands roaming his chest.
“I wanted to -- I really did,” she confesses, like a secret is being ripped out of her and he sighs. He’s kissing her neck now, mostly gentle with hints of teeth that he smooths away with a swipe of his tongue, like an apology.
“Wait, why were you there today?”
“Hmm?” His eyes look glazed over as he tries to collect himself. “What was I saying?”
She stops him, palms on his chest. He’s appealingly flushed, like he’s had a few drinks.
“That it turns you on watching me in court, that’s all,” she says with a smirk, and his eyes narrow at her, dark with purpose and intention.
He brushes his thumbs delicately against the sides of her breasts and she needs more, much more , she thinks as she wraps her legs around his waist. That’s when things go from zero to one twenty with shocking ease, because he lifts her effortlessly while they’re still kissing and walks them both to the sofa. She can feel the bite of his watch against her lower back and yelps a little, upsetting his balance and making them both laugh as they land on the sofa.
“I have to ask,” he says, voice steady as he hovers over her. “Are you here with me?”
Hee-jae’s questions are never really just about what he asks. Right now, his eyes are asking other things too. Are you going to remember this tomorrow? Are we just going to laugh it off again and pretend I’m not dying on the inside? Will you want me again?
She’s defenceless right now in the face of his raw honesty, clarifying like sunlight breaking through after a storm. Something shatters inside her, the way it must have done inside Hee Sun. She can’t help it; she brushes a knuckle against his jawline.
“I’m here as long as you are,” and that must sound like benediction to him, because he shuts his eyes then, touching his forehead to hers.
-
To the outside world, Yoon Hee-jae is all designer suits and well-bred arrogance; beautiful, expensive and ultimately pointless. A spoilt scion; one who only knows the lines and how to colour within them.
There is no reason for them to know how gently he undresses her in the same bed he slept with Hee Sun; the line of his back over her; the curve of his fingers as they quest over scars. He puts her left hand on his right shoulder. “If it feels uncomfortable in any way, just touch me here,” he instructs.
He starts with the scar low on her belly, tasting it with lips and then with tongue. The world reshapes around them as he moves lower still, probing gently in between her legs. Another man might have been smug about how incredibly wet she is; she can feel him tremble a little in silence. His upper arms flex as he settles down, pulling one of her legs over his free shoulder.
“Don’t be quiet, hmm?” he says, finally turning those languorous eyes on her before he descends to taste her properly.
She can only hear the roaring of her own heartbeat as Yoon Hee-jae redraws all the lines.
It feels like hours later when he finally lets her up and she’s panting like she’s run a marathon. He looks like he’s run one too; his hair falls on his forehead and she climbs into his lap, weak with pleasure. He steadies her with his hands at her waist.
“What do you want?” he asks as she places her arms around his neck.
“Take whatever you want,” she whispers in his ear. “Use me, however you want,” and he moans, hitching her hips higher and driving into her, powerful strokes igniting her from the inside, taking her home to where she belongs.
Coda
The professor is at a party for the criminal justice conference, dressed in his best suit. It’s a swanky crowd, but he knows it’s good for networking to be at the dinners. He’s just returned after a decade in the States, and he’s ready to make his mark back at home.
The speaker tonight is the retired Chief Justice. Cocktail hour is crowded, with women in their gowns and men dressed to the nines. He feels a little underdressed in his suit and tie.
He spots the former Chief Justice with a drink, speaking to a woman. He’s done his research about the retired Chief Justice, and he hopes to get the man’s ear for his ideas about reforming the country's corruption laws. He expects the retired Chief Justice would be interested in that sort of thing.
He does not expect to see Eun-Young in front of him.
She looks gorgeous, far lovelier than she was at twenty. She wears her hair short now, and is dressed in an elegant black gown that dips daringly low at the back. The diamond necklace she wears looks like a coiled snake ready to strike.
“Yes?” asks the former Chief Justice, breaking him out of his stunned silence. She says nothing, but cocks her head to the side with a bored smile. Perhaps she doesn't want to be acknowledged. The professor wonders why.
“I’m a fan of your efforts with criminal justice reform, Sir,” he starts out. “I’m an academic. I have some ideas and would love to have your thoughts on them, if you have the time.”
The retired judge looks apologetic. “I’m expected backstage soon. Where did you say you teach?”
A man approaches them then, tall and dashing in a tuxedo that makes him look like an old-school film star. “Father, they’re calling you backstage,” he says, placing his hand on Eun-young's lower back. The professor imagines this must be the elder son, the judge - their ages seem to match. He cannot imagine how Eun-young ended up here with him.
The retired Chief Justice chats on, but the professor can hardly pay any attention. He doesn’t appear to be the only one; all around them, people turn to look. It makes sense; they’re stunning together.
He turns to the professor, casting a critical once-over. It's swift and subtle, but the professor can feel the weight of his contemptuous gaze. He turns back to Eun-young, tilting his head down by her ear. “Kevin Jung wants to talk,” he tells her, and Eun-young looks up at him sharply. He then turns back to the professor, as though the professor has finally earned his attention.
“Who is this?” he asks, in a way that isn’t polite and isn’t intended to be so despite his smile.
“A professor from my old university, Yoon,” says Eun-Young, finally speaking. “He has an interest in criminal justice reform. You should talk,” she concludes with a mysterious smile. “I'll go in with Father and...deal with Kevin Jung." She turns to face the man, then brushes lint off his shoulder with her left hand. Her emerald ring and infinity band glint in the ballroom lights. She inclines her head slightly towards her father-in-law, and departs in a cloud of perfume - all without ever having acknowledged him. He turns to the retired Chief Justice's son, who directs him to the bar.
They speak over a couple of Scotches; the man leaning against the bar as he sits on a bar stool. The man is engaging and interested in what he has to say, asking about his teaching stint overseas and an entire range of topics
“We're always looking for good causes to support. My wife and I have an interest in legal education reform, though. We have to be, since we run a firm and have a vested interest in diverse talents.”
"I thought you were the elder son, for some reason. The judge," he says, too surprised to be subtle.
The man laughs heartily. "Not many people make that mistake. We favour different parents, you see. My wife will find that funny, though.”
He decides that this is as good a time as any to slip in what he knows. “I used to teach your wife, Mr Yoon. I’m not sure she wanted you to know that.”
There’s an awkward lull in the conversation, and everything goes quiet. Then the younger Yoon smiles slowly. It reminds him of a predator coming awake.
“Do you still make it a habit to sleep with your students, Professor?”
A chill runs down his spine. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s why you had to leave the country, isn’t it?” He cocks his head, tone deceptively light.
Sweat breaks out on his forehead. How does this stranger - how does anyone know about what happened? “I should probably leave-”
“No, please do stay,” says the man, all false politeness, placing a hand on his shoulder before making to leave. “Father’s speech will be riveting, I’m sure.”
He then turns back, as if he has forgotten something.
"I wouldn’t carry on like before if I were you,” he says lightly. “That young woman from ten years ago, she just wanted to move on with her life. I don’t think they’re quite like that now, are they? Not as pliable.”
He finds it in him to protest. “It wasn’t like that -- you have to understand-"
"We do. It's why we acted for her. It's why we'll act for any girl we hear of in the future. And we won't settle for just exiling you this time."
He crumples in his uncomfortable seat. "Why would you do this to me?" he begs.
The man tilts his head in mock pity. "Not that it would have changed anything, but you really should have given my wife that A,” he advises, downing the remnants of his Scotch and sauntering away.
The applause rises as he pulls the ballroom doors open and disappears into the glittering lights.
-