#netflx

you’d stumbled across yeon-jin’s name in some obscure online forum, a thread buried deep in the corners of the internet where people traded stories about notorious figures.

park yeon-jin.

the name alone carried something in this country.

she was a murderer, manipulator, a woman who’d burned her way through lives without a flicker of remorse while growing up successful and rich.

yet, all of the photos of her from the past, all sharp cheekbones and defiant eyes, made your pulse quicken.

even the ones after you received from her in prison still sparked something in you.

she was beautiful, like a storm you wanted to chase.

you’d moved to korea a year ago, chasing a vague dream of starting over from your old life.

seoul was a city that didn’t care about your past.

neither did yeon-jin, apparently. when you sent that first letter—hesitant, polite, a little too formal...she responded within weeks.

yeon-jin's handwriting was beautiful. each stroke was deliberate, like she was carving her words into the paper. 

you’re new here, aren’t you?

i can tell.

some of your hangul is messy but its alright.

it’s cute. 

the words made you flush, your fingers tracing the ink as if you could feel her through the page.

over months, the letters grew bolder.

she teased you, her tone playful but laced with something darker, something that made your skin prickle. 

what’s a sweet thing like you doing writing to someone like me?

don’t you know i’m trouble? 

you did know.

you’d read the articles, the lurid details of her crimes that have occurred since 2004.

bullying, murder, torment.

to you, that was before.

before you.

before her words started filling the empty spaces in your days, before her voice through the phone calls became the thing you craved most.

you liked her crazy.

you liked how she didn’t apologize, didn’t shrink.

even in prison, yeon-jin was unapologetic since she was just a queen in exile.

you were hooked.

the day of the visit, five months after your first letter, arrives like a fever.

you’ve been counting down the hours, your stomach a knot of nerves. the prison is a gray, hulking beast on the outskirts of the city, all concrete and barbed wire.

you dress carefully. a maxi black skirt, a sweater blouse that clings just enough, a touch of red lipstick because you know she’ll notice.

you want her to notice.

the guard checks your ID, her eyes lingering on you with faint suspicion. you’re not like the other visitors, not family, not a lawyer.

just… you.

how do you know the once famous weather broadcaster?

inside, the air smells of disinfectant and despair.

you’re led to a small booth, a thick pane of glass separating you from the other side. your heart hammers as you sit, hands fidgeting in your lap. you’ve pictured this moment a hundred times, but nothing prepares you for her.

yeon-jin strides in, and the room feels smaller.

the woman's hair is pulled back, sleek.

her face...goodness, her face.

it’s sharper than in the photos, all angles and intensity, but her lips curve into a smile that’s equal parts charm and danger.

she’s in the standard blue prison uniform, but she wears it like it’s couture, her posture regal, unbothered. you could tell that she grew up with class.

she sits across from you, picking up the phone on her side of the glass with a lazy grace.

“well, well,” she says, her voice smooth, like velvet with a razor edge.

“you’re even prettier than i imagined, y/n.”

your breath catches, and you press the phone tighter against your ear, as if it could close the distance between you.

“well of course you’re not so bad yourself,” you manage, your voice softer than you’d like.

you wanted to sound cool, confident. unfortunately, she’s already unraveling you.

yeon-jin's laugh is a soft, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“not so bad? come on, sweetheart, you can do better than that.” the older woman's eyes rake over you, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail.

the way your blouse dips at your collarbone, the nervous way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“you dressed up for me, didn’t you?”

you flush, heat creeping up your neck.

“maybe.”

“definitely.”

she leans forward, her elbow resting on the counter, her chin in her hand. the glass between you feels like a cruel joke.

“red lipstick. bold choice. you know it’s my color, I mentioned it in a letter from a few months back.”

you swallow feeling like your mouth is dry, “thought you’d appreciate it.”

“oh, i do.” yeon-jin's smile widens, and there’s something predatory in it, something that makes your heart race in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant.

“you’re trouble, y/n. i knew it from your letters. all that sweet talk, but there’s a little fire in you, isn’t there? you aren't like the other bitches I knew before I got in here.”

you bite your lip, and her eyes follow the movement, darkening.

“you’re one to talk about trouble, weather broadcaster A..” you say, trying to regain some footing as you quote an old article that was released before her arrest.

she laughs again, louder this time. it’s disarming how genuine it sounds.

“fair enough. but you like that, don’t you? you like that i’m not some boring nobody. you like that i’m… what’s the word? infamous.”

you don’t deny it.

you can’t.

instead, you lean forward, mirroring her posture, your voice dropping.

“maybe i do. maybe i’m just as messed up as you are.”

yeon-jin's eyes flash, a spark of something unreadable like delight, maybe, or recognition.

the hour passes in a blur of words and glances, each one heavier than the last.

she tells you about prison life with a casualness that borders on flippant, like she’s describing a mildly inconvenient vacation. “the food’s shit, but you learn to deal. the other girls? they’re scared of me. makes things easier.” 

you hang on every word, captivated by the way she spins her world into something almost glamorous. she asks about you, too...your job, your tiny apartment, the way seoul feels like a show you’re still learning to tune into.

it’s the flirting keeps you on edge, the way she puts it into every sentence, every look.

she tells you about her old life, snippets of it, always careful to skirt the worst of her crimes like when she murdered her classmate back in 2004.

you don’t push.

you know what she did.

it was bullying that went too far, a cruelty that left scars deeper than skin.

the yeon-jin in front of you isn’t the monster from the headlines.

she’s magnetic, her words dripping with charm that feels custom-made for you. you wonder if this is how she was before...back when she was a broadcaster, all polished smiles and calculated allure.

do-yeong was her ex husband, you were jealous that he got to see yeon-jin in her prime.

however, she played him.

also, you wonder if she’s playing you now.

you wonder if you care.

“you’re staring,” she teases, snapping you out of your thoughts. the mother's eyes are locked on yours, “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“just… trying to figure you out,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“good luck with that.”

she leans back, stretching slightly, and the motion pulls the fabric of her uniform tight across her shoulders.

you try not to notice, but she catches you anyway, her smirk knowing.

the guard’s voice crackles through a speaker, announcing that time’s almost up.

panic flares in your chest since you’re not ready to leave, and to not ready to lose this strange, electric connection.

yeon-jin seems to sense it, her expression softening further.

“you’ll come back, right?” she asks, and for the first time, there’s a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

it’s fleeting, gone as soon as it appears.

it’s enough to make your resolve crumble.

“try and stop me,” you say.

“good girl,” she murmurs, and the words send a jolt through you, equal parts thrill and danger.

“write me soon, yeah? i’ll be waiting.”

the guard ushers you out, and you’re left in a daze.

you can still hear her voice, still see the way her eyes held yours, like she was peeling back your layers and liking what she found. you’re not naive...you know who she is, what she’s done.

the articles called her a sociopath, a bully who destroyed lives without blinking.

the yeon-jin you met today wasn’t just a headline.

she was real, flawed, intoxicating.

you’re already counting the days until you can see her again.

back at your apartment, you can’t sit still.

the woman's letters are spread across your desk, each one reread until the words are burned into your mind. 

you trace the loops of her handwriting, your fingers lingering on the paper as if it could somehow bring her closer.

you’re fixated, and you know it.

you pull out a fresh sheet of paper, your pen hovering. what do you even say? how do you capture the way she’s already under your skin, a fever you don’t want to shake?

you start writing, the words spilling out faster than you can think.

yeon-jin,

i can’t stop thinking about you. today was… i don’t even know how to describe it. you’re more than i expected. more than anyone i’ve ever met. i know you’re in there, and i’m out here, but it doesn’t feel like that when we talk. it felt like you’re right next to me, like i can feel your eyes on me even now.

you pause, your heart pounding.

it’s too much, too honest, but you don’t crumple the paper.

you keep going, your words growing bolder, more desperate. 

i don’t care about what you did. i know i should, but i don’t. i just want to know you, all of you, the parts you never showed anyone else like do-yeong.

by the time you finish, it’s late, and your hand aches from gripping the pen so tightly.

you fold the letter carefully, your fingers trembling with the weight of what you’ve admitted. you don’t know if it’s love or obsession or something darker, but you know one thing for certain.

yeon-jin has you, and you don’t want her to let go.

you seal the envelope, her name written in your careful script.

tomorrow, you’ll mail it.

tomorrow, you’ll start counting the days until her response and when you see her again.

when that comes, you’ll be ready.