Nice to Meet You, Mr. Huo

When he was eighteen years old, he handed over a handkerchief. She hid for four years. At the age of twenty-two, her father knelt down and begged her to marry him. She agreed - not because of the money, but because of the handkerchief. Three years of marriage. She has learned every dish he likes to eat, the refrigerator is covered with dates, and the entryway is lit up every night. He didn't come back a few times, but he would look at her twice and say, "The soup is delicious." She thought it was love. Until I saw the ambiguous text message and found the ring, I waited all night. She pushed the divorce agreement in front of him, signed it, and left. He thought it was good for her to let her go and didn't pursue her. Two years later. Shanghai. She is the youngest editor-in-chief of Yuanfeng Culture and stands calmly and confidently on stage. He was the ex-husband who came after me and waited downstairs day after day. What she didn't know was: he didn't reply to the text message, the ring was a relic of his mother, and that night he was forced into the palace by his eldest brother. He filed for divorce because he felt that she deserved someone better. Seven years of secret love, three years of marriage, and two years of separation. From beginning to end, he only loved her. She only loved him. It's just that he doesn't know, and neither does she. This time, can he still catch up?