Lost in translation

Chapter 6: The unexpected invitation

Evelyn’s heart raced as she approached the security gate of her apartment building. Raindrops clung to her coat, and her breath formed mist in the chilly air. She needed her phone—the lifeline to her forgotten bag, left behind in a stranger’s car.

The security guard, an elderly man with kind eyes, looked up from his desk. “Can I help you, Miss?”

Evelyn’s voice trembled. “I left my bag in a car. A stranger’s car. Can I use your phone to call it?”

He nodded, handing her the receiver. She dialed her number, praying for a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hello?” Min-jun’s voice crackled through the line.

“Min-jun,” Evelyn blurted out. “I need my bag. Can you bring it?”

His hesitation was palpable. “I’m leaving Seoul tomorrow. Come to my place.”

Her mind raced. Why the urgency? Why invite her to his home? “Where do you live?”

He recited an address, and they hung up. Evelyn thanked the security guard and rushed to her apartment. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening.

Inside her bathroom, steam enveloped her. She shaved her legs, her mind questioning the need for such care. After all, she was just retrieving a bag. But something tugged at her—a curiosity, a connection.

Matching underwear—red lace, a secret she kept from the world. She slipped into a black bodycon dress, its fabric hugging her curves. Stiletto heels clicked against the floor, determination in each step.

The security gate welcomed her again. She borrowed their phone, requesting a cab. The driver navigated the city’s winding streets, and soon, she stood before Min-jun’s address—a door to answers, secrets, and perhaps more.

Evelyn’s cab pulled up to the address Min-jun had given her. She stepped out, her breath catching as she surveyed the scene. This was no ordinary dwelling—it was a symphony of architecture and nature, a place where light danced through glass and leaves whispered secrets.

The building stood tall, its façade a canvas of floor-to-ceiling windows. Evelyn wondered if she’d stumbled into a dream—a place where reality blurred with fantasy.

And then there was the garden—a vast expanse that defied the confines of city living. Trees stretched their limbs, their leaves dappling the ground. Flowers bloomed in riotous colors, their fragrance weaving through the air. Evelyn’s fingers brushed against petals, and she felt like an intruder in Eden.

She approached the gate, her heart racing. The intercom crackled to life, and Min-jun’s voice flowed through. “Evelyn,” he said, and the syllables held a promise. “I’ve been waiting.”

The gate swung open, revealing a path lined with pebbles. Evelyn stepped inside, her senses alive—the crunch of gravel, the scent of earth. And there, at the end of the path, stood Min-jun—the enigma she couldn’t unravel.

Evelyn stepped through the gate, her breath catching as the grandeur of Min-jun’s house enveloped her.

Evelyn is greeted at the door by a man who welcomes her inside. A woman takes her coat and escorts her to the dining table. Evelyn is awestruck by the house, adorned with art, pictures, and paintings of a king and queen, reflecting Min-jun's interest in Korean tradition. She curiously explores the house, admiring the beauty of the art, and unknowingly finds her way to Min-jun's room.

Evelyn enters the room as her eyes widened as she took in Min-jun’s form—the embodiment of sculpted perfection. His skin, still glistening from a recent bath, held a tantalizing allure. The towel wrapped around his waist hinted at hidden treasures—abs chiseled like chocolate, each contour etched with precision. But it was the unexpected canvas of tattoos that stole her breath—the inked constellations mapping a story she yearned to unravel.

Their eyes lock, and a moment of silence ensues.

As Min-jun draws closer, Evelyn is overwhelmed by flashbacks of a mysterious encounter she had with a stranger, which resulted in an intimate night. Fear and confusion cloud her mind, and she reacts impulsively, kicking Min-jun in the groin. As Min-jun groans with pain, She is shocked by her own action and starts shouting, unable to process why Min-jun, of all people, was the man from that night. Security guards bargained for entry, concern etched on their faces. Min-jun dismissed them, asserting control.

Evelyn, embarrassed and ashamed, approaches Min-jun to apologize. She compliments his tattoos, trying to ease the tension. Min-jun, still in pain, questions her actions and accuses her of being out of her mind. Min-jun’s groan echoed in the room, pain etched across his features. He struggled to rise from his knees, eyes locked on Evelyn. “Why?” he rasped. “Why would you hurt me?”

Evelyn’s breath caught. The room pulsed with tension, and her mind raced. Why indeed? The tattoos on his skin whispered secrets, and she wondered if her own past held the answers. But for now, all she could offer was a shaky apology. “I didn’t know,” she said. “I didn’t know it was you.”. Evelyn, flustered, tries to explain her unexpected reaction, but Min-jun is now intrigued and wants to understand why she lashed out.

Min-jun’s eyes held a mixture of amusement and intrigue as Evelyn stood her ground. “Shy, are you?” he teased, his voice low.

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen every inch of your body,” she retorted, surprising herself with the boldness of her words. “No need for shyness on my part.”

His laughter echoed through the room, a dangerous melody. “Touché,” he said, stepping closer. “But perhaps there are other secrets you’ve yet to uncover.”

Evelyn’s pulse still raced from her encounter with Min-jun—the tattoos, the tension. She needed a distraction, and the tantalizing aroma from the kitchen beckoned. As she descended the stairs, curiosity led her to the heart of the house.

The chef, a stout man with a twinkle in his eye, stirred a pot of fragrant stew. “Ah, Miss Evelyn,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’ve met our enigmatic host, I assume?”

Evelyn nodded, her cheeks warming. “Min-jun,” she said. “He’s… intriguing.”

The chef chuckled. “Intriguing indeed. He carries himself like a king—graceful, yet with an air of mystery. And his taste—impeccable.”

Evelyn’s blush surprised her. “His taste?”

The chef leaned closer, lowering his voice. “He appreciates beauty—the art on the walls, the flavors in his meals. But there’s more.” His eyes darted around, as if fearing eavesdroppers. “He guards his personal life fiercely. A man with secrets.”

Evelyn’s curiosity flared. “What secrets?”

Before the chef could answer, Min-jun materialized—a force of nature. He grabbed her waist, his touch both possessive and electrifying. “Evelyn,” he murmured, “some secrets are best left untouched.”

And just like that, they were swept into the dining room—a dance of desire and danger, where every glance held promises and peril.