Copywriting:
The first time Fu Chenzhou met Party A's representative Su Wan on a cooperation project, he felt that this woman was extremely beautiful, like a flaming rose tempered by ice.
At the negotiation table, she was meticulous about every word and refused to give up an inch of ground, criticizing his team's core plan until it was useless.
During the intermission, he leaned at the end of the corridor and lit a cigarette. Amidst the smoke, he watched her step on ten-centimeter high heels and whisper to the people next to her expressionlessly.
In a daze, he overlapped with the figure of the girl in the memory who was wearing a washed white school uniform, with clear and stubborn eyes.
At that time, he was the favored son of heaven, and she was a silent and lonely transfer student.
She never took the umbrella he handed over.
She returned the breakfast he sent intact.
On the eve of graduation, he finally stopped her on the path behind the library, his voice carrying the stubbornness unique to a young man: "Su Wan, would you like to go to the same city with me?"
She lowered her head, and for a long time, she only replied to him with three words: "I'm sorry."
*
When we meet again, eight years have passed like water.
No one knows that Fu Chenzhou, the cold-blooded heir to the Fu family who is now aggressive and decisive in the shopping mall, has a yellowed graduation photo locked in the bottom drawer of his study.
On the back of the photo, there is a name written carefully in pencil. Over the years, it has almost become one with the fiber of the paper.
No one even knew that Su Wan, the newly promoted project manager of the Cultural Foundation, had a worn-out school badge hidden in the secret compartment of the wallet he carried with him.
That was the only hidden light in her barren youth.
*
At a certain industry summit, the lights were bright and the people were dressed in fragrant clothes.
Someone brought up Fu Chenzhou's campus romance that ended in failure and asked with a smile how he felt now that he was successful and famous.
Fu Chenzhou swung the amber liquid in the cup with indifferent eyes and had not yet spoken.
A clear female voice sounded behind her, with an imperceptible tremor:
"He probably forgot that the first time he wrote a love letter, he asked me to help him draft it."
The whole audience was stunned.
Fu Chenzhou slowly turned around and looked at the woman who had defeated him and whom he would never forget.
He put down his wine glass and walked towards her step by step in the dead silence of the entire place, finally stopping in front of her. His voice was low and hoarse, carrying the unyielding emotions that had not gone away in eight years:
"Su Wan," he called her, his eyes like the deep sea, "you are finally willing to come back."
"I still have the manuscript of that love letter. Do you want to see whose name is written at the beginning?"
Intention: love