Ten o’clock in the morning, Conference Room One of the Fu Group headquarters.
By the time Xia Ran arrived, Zhao Min was already waiting for her downstairs. The two of them got on the elevator together, Zhao Min clutching the proposal documents in her hands, her knuckles slightly white from the grip. As the elevator ascended, Zhao Min suddenly spoke up. “Xia Ran, thank you.”
Xia Ran glanced at her. “For what?”
“For bringing me along.” Zhao Min smiled—a smile tinged with nervousness, but also sincerity. “I know President Fu specifically requested you for this project. You could have come alone. Bringing me along means you wanted me to be part of this too.”
The elevator doors opened. Xia Ran didn’t answer, only said, “Let’s go.”
The door to Conference Room One was open. The design department staff had already arrived and were adjusting the projection equipment. Shen Che stood by the conference table. When he saw Xia Ran enter, he gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before falling on Zhao Min—thoughtful, but he said nothing.
“Miss Xia, please have a seat. President Fu will be here shortly.”
Xia Ran chose a seat by the window. Zhao Min sat beside her. The proposal documents were spread open, notebook opened, pen placed beside it—everything in order. The conference room door was pushed open again, and Fu Sinian walked in. Today he wore a dark gray suit with a light blue shirt, no tie. His gaze swept across the room, landing first on Xia Ran, pausing for a moment, then moving to Zhao Min beside her. His brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
He walked to the head of the table and sat down, flipping open the folder in front of him, his eyes fixed on the papers, not looking at anyone. “Begin.”
Xia Ran stood up and walked to the projection screen. She wore a black thin-knit sweater today, her hair down, not much makeup, but she’d chosen a deep rosewood shade of lipstick—not flashy, but by no means casual. She took a deep breath and began. “President Fu, everyone, this is the fourth-version proposal presentation for the Jinglan Project’s detailed design. I’ll be leading today’s presentation, and my colleague Zhao Min will handle the notes and subsequent coordination.”
She pressed the clicker. The first image appeared on screen—the overall spatial layout, color palette, material selection, lighting design. She spoke slowly, every detail grounded in evidence, every decision backed by design logic. Her voice was soft but steady, like a slow-flowing river, unhurried, laying out all the information piece by piece. Zhao Min took notes rapidly beside her, occasionally supplementing a technical parameter or two. The two worked together in decent sync.
Fu Sinian sat at the head of the table, never interrupting. His gaze remained fixed on Xia Ran the entire time—from her first word to her last, he never looked away. Not the way a client scrutinizes a vendor, but something more personal, more private, like he was afraid of missing something. The way he looked at her wasn’t the way one looks at a designer presenting a proposal.
Xia Ran finished. The room fell silent for two seconds, then the design department director spoke first, asking a question about material selection. Xia Ran answered. The Jinglan project lead asked another question about the construction timeline, and Zhao Min answered on her behalf. The Q&A lasted twenty minutes, and Fu Sinian remained silent throughout. Only when everyone’s questions had been exhausted and the room fell quiet again did he speak.
“The proposal is approved,” he said, his voice low but clear. “Develop the construction drawings in this direction. Submit the first draft by next Friday.”
He closed his folder and stood. Everyone assumed the meeting was over and began packing up. Fu Sinian walked to the door, then suddenly stopped, turned his head, his gaze landing on Xia Ran.
“Designer Xia, come to my office. There are some details that need to be discussed privately.”
The air in the conference room shifted subtly. The design department director and the Jinglan project lead exchanged a glance, said nothing, and continued packing up in silence. He Xu’s expression didn’t change, but he wrote a single character in his notebook, then crossed it out.
Xia Ran stood there, still holding the clicker. Zhao Min looked at her, lips parting as if to say something, but in the end she only silently took the clicker from her hand and whispered, “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
Xia Ran nodded.
Fu Sinian’s office was at the other end of the corridor, the door open. When Xia Ran walked in, he was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to her.
The door closed behind her. Not by Fu Sinian—Shen Che pulled it shut from outside. Xia Ran heard the soft click of the latch settling into the lock, and her fingers tightened slightly.
Fu Sinian turned around, looking at her.
He took a step toward her. Xia Ran instinctively stepped back, her back pressing against the door. He didn’t advance further, but he didn’t retreat either. He stood there, one step away, looking down at her.
“Ranran,” he called her.
Xia Ran’s body went rigid. When they were together, he had always called her “Ranran.”
She forced herself to stay alert and composed, her voice cold and distant: “President Fu, please call me Designer Xia.”
Fu Sinian heard the chill in her tone. “It’s been so long, and Ranran has even forgotten my name?”
She turned her head away, her gaze icy: “President Fu, please don’t forget—we broke up five years ago.”
A cold smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he stepped closer. “How could I forget? Miss Xia was far more heartless back then than you are now.”
“Good, as long as you haven’t forgotten, President Fu.”
Xia Ran looked at him and said firmly, “President Fu, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now.”
She turned to leave, but he suddenly grabbed her, pulling her tightly into his embrace. Her struggles were utterly futile against him.
“Fu Sinian, let me go!”
Why are you so overbearing?
“Not letting go.”
Seeing her stop struggling, the corner of his lips curled up slightly, and he quickly pecked her on the lips.
“Mmph—”
Xia Ran kicked Fu Sinian in the shin, and he let out a muffled grunt.
“Good kick.” His voice was hoarse. “Ranran, does your foot hurt? Sit down and let me take a look.”
Xia Ran was speechless. How could this man be so shameless? Was this even the Fu Sinian she used to know?
Her gaze was icy: “President Fu, please show some respect. We truly can’t go back.”
She quickly pulled the door open and rushed out.
The door slammed shut with a bang.
Fu Sinian stood frozen in place, the faint scent of gardenias still lingering in the air around him.
“Can’t go back?” He repeated her words, a determined smirk curving at the corner of his lips.
“Xia Ran.”
He murmured her name softly, each syllable steeped in lingering affection and stubborn resolve, carrying the obsession he had never let go of for five years: “Let’s see how long you can hide from me.”
He picked up his personal phone and swiftly dialed his special assistant’s number.
His tone was calm and indifferent, betraying none of the tangled emotions from moments ago—only cold, businesslike instructions: “Shen Che.”
“President.” Shen Che answered immediately on the other end.
“Notify Shanghe Design,” Fu Sinian said, his eyes dark and his tone utterly flat, “the Jinglan project proposal—re-review it. It’s rejected. Scrap it entirely and start over.”
Shen Che’s heart tightened, and he understood instantly.
The proposal that had just been publicly approved in the meeting room was now being completely overturned.
This was never about the proposal itself—it was the president wanting to keep her firmly tethered to his side.
“Understood. I’ll arrange it right away.”
The call ended.
Fu Sinian walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the sprawling city below, his eyes deep and unfathomable.
Xia Ran, you want to keep business and personal separate, to draw a clear line between us?
Fine.
Then I’ll destroy every path of retreat you have, until you have no choice but to come back to me—again and again.