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Episode 4
Before Yeoreum could answer, Hyeon-jae was already walking toward the elevator.
Just in case, she left a note on Myeong-jun’s desk saying she’d gone out for lunch, then hurried after him.
By the time she caught up, Hyeon-jae was already inside the elevator, waiting.
As the doors closed, the air grew heavier, the awkward silence sinking in.
She was just thinking it might have been better to text Myeong-jun instead of leaving a note when her eyes met Hyeon-jae’s.
“Your face looks like a student sneaking out of class. What are you so worried about?”
“I just… wondered if it’s okay to leave my desk like this.”
“Why wouldn’t it be? We all work to live. Having lunch with your boss isn’t a crime.”
He made it sound trivial, but to Yeoreum everything felt like walking on eggshells.
She recalled Myeong-jun’s reminder to keep him updated on even the smallest details before going to the director.
“Is Secretary Choi giving you a hard time?”
Yeoreum stayed quiet.
“I’ll have to scold him then.”
“No, not at all. He’s been very kind and helpful.”
“So, you like kind and gentle people?”
Worried he might misunderstand and think she meant something about Myeong-jun, she shook her head.
The conversation felt strangely off-track, yet his innocent eyes held no malice, only quiet persistence.
“Better than someone unfriendly, right?”
“I suppose so.”
“That doesn’t mean I like Secretary Choi.”
“I see.”
His lack of reaction made her feel she’d overexplained for nothing.
Their odd exchange fizzled out, and they stepped into the underground parking lot.
It seemed to be reserved for executives—every car lined up was a high-end import.
When Hyeon-jae pressed his smart key, a Bugatti Chiron in the center flashed its lights.
Yeoreum hesitated, and he turned back.
“Weren’t we going to the cafeteria…?”
“The cafeteria?”
His frown suggested disbelief.
“You thought I’d take you to the company cafeteria?”
She realized how absurd that sounded. Just imagining him eating there among the staff seemed ridiculous. Her cheeks burned red.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Get in.”
He moved to open the passenger door for her, but she quickly waved him off, insisting she could manage.
Still, as she glanced at the car, she remembered seeing it ranked as one of the most expensive supercars on a TV program once.
Hesitant, she lingered, but his silent nod toward the open door left her no choice.
The car was a two-seater—there was nowhere else to sit. She carefully slid into the passenger seat.
When he joined her, the closeness made the air grow heavier. Her hands folded in her lap, legs pressed neatly together.
With a roar like a jet taking off, the engine started.
Stealing a glance at his profile, she felt a strange jolt of familiarity.
He looked so much like Suha, and yet the air of inherited wealth and effortless confidence set him apart.
This lunch, unsettling from the start, felt even more uncomfortable now.
The first dishes were served, one in front of Hyeon-jae and one for her.
The server refilled her water for the third time, offering a polite “Enjoy your meal” before leaving.
She lifted the glass again, then lowered her gaze to the food.
Cubes of grilled Korean beef, a rich abalone seaweed soup, and a hot stone bowl topped with colorful vegetables, mushrooms, sautéed beef, and thin egg strips—all beautifully arranged.
Hyeon-jae stirred his bibimbap and raised an eyebrow.
“Does the food not suit you? Want me to order something else?”
“No, this is fine.”
She reached for her spoon but paused.
The first time she had eaten with Suha, they’d also had bibimbap.
Not in a fine dining restaurant, not a dish that looked like a work of art, but still—her throat tightened.
“I like bibimbap too.”
She had wanted to treat him to something nicer that day, but things hadn’t gone as planned. Seeing her upset, Suha had reassured her that bibimbap was his favorite.
He had eaten it with such genuine enjoyment, even though it was nothing more than a humble dish in a worn-out bowl.
That thought tugged at her heart.
Her gaze drifted back to Hyeon-jae.
He ate quietly, posture perfect, chewing and swallowing with composed elegance.
His table manners reminded her of Suha—never opening his mouth wide, adjusting his pace to match his companion, keeping cutlery neatly aligned.
The resemblance unsettled her more and more.
“Stop staring. You’ll choke on your food.”
“Ah… yes.”
His cold voice jolted her, and she quickly dropped her eyes.
She kept stirring her already-mixed bibimbap over and over.
It’s just coincidence.
Life throws impossible things at you sometimes. Like Suha suddenly leaving me…
When she finally forced a spoonful into her mouth, tears slipped down.
She willed herself not to cry, but each time she looked at Hyeon-jae, emotions surged beyond her control.
She thought she heard him sigh.
Just like the day before, she was crying for no reason. If he saw, he might think her unstable and fire her.
She had promised herself she wouldn’t show weakness if she wanted to work with him.
So she conjured Ye-gyeom’s face in her mind, over and over, to hold the tears back.
After a long silence, he spoke.
“If you’re done, let’s go.”
“Yes.”
She had barely eaten a bite.
When he jerked his chin for her to go ahead, she stepped past the table—only to notice something off.
Sweat dotted his forehead as he rubbed at his temple.
As an interpreter, she was trained to catch subtle expressions in clients, and the pallor of his skin alarmed her.
Yeoreum quickly stepped closer.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
He didn’t answer.
She repeated the question, leaning nearer.
His shoulders rose sharply as he inhaled, his chest swelling. His pupils lost focus, swirling with confusion.
He looked like a man dreaming with his eyes open.
“Director?”
Sensing something was wrong, she started to turn toward the door to call for help—when a sudden grip clamped around her wrist.
The force yanked her toward him so abruptly she nearly fell into his arms.
She pulled back in a panic.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto hers.
No—pierced through her.
There was no escape from that gaze.
She lasted only a moment before dropping her eyes.
She couldn’t let her fragile heart be thrown into chaos again. With effort, she pulled her hand free.
Yet her heart pounded wildly, betraying her.
When she dared to look up again, he seemed back to normal—as if nothing had happened.
What was that? Just a passing spell?
“Are you okay?”
“Let’s go.”
He brushed past her and walked out of the room.
As he passed, the faint vetiver scent that had lingered since the car enveloped her again, heavy and sharp.
