Everyone said that Chang Le lived up to his name, with a heartless smile, outstanding clothes, and charming personality.
Only Lu Jingan knew that the smile never reached his eyes.
Three years ago, he decided to go abroad. She didn't hold back a word, she just said "take care" with a faint smile.
We met again at a cocktail party three years later. She was a highly sought-after new designer, and he was the president of the group who had returned to China to take charge.
While toasting, he grabbed her wrist and said, "Chang Le, your smile is still so fake."
She swayed the champagne and raised her eyebrows in a charming way: "Mr. Lu, it's been three years, why is your possessiveness still not cured?"
Later, a friend who witnessed Lu Jing'an waiting all night in the heavy rain lamented: "Chang Le, what on earth did he do to you?"
She looked at the stubborn figure outside the window, gently twirling the ring he had given her back then on her ring finger - "Le'an" was engraved on the inside, which had long been cut off by her knife.
"It's nothing," she smiled. "It's just that he taught me that it's better to not want happiness than to expect it from others."
But Lu Jingan didn't believe it.
He had seen true joy—in his arms, with light in his eyes.
What he lost, even if his body was burned to pieces, he would find it back inch by inch.
