Tristan's tone was indifferent.
A flicker of coldness flashed across his eyes.
Yasmine Yorke hadn't expected him to suddenly throw out such a rhetorical question and blurted out in surprise.
"With her background in this circle, who isn't trying to climb up? This kind of woman is the most scheming, pretending to be noble while secretly doing all sorts of things."
"Then what category do you fall into, talking behind people's backs like this?"
Tristan's lips curled slightly, seemingly with a hint of a smile.
But those eyes were as sharp as icy blades.
"Are you the kind of rude, ruleless gossip who can't bear to see others doing well?"
He spoke each word lightly.
Yet every word pierced the heart like a needle.
Yasmine Yorke's heart sank suddenly, and she hurriedly tried to explain.
"Tristan, I didn't mean that, I just…"
Her voice was interrupted unceremoniously by Tristan raising his hand.
His brows slightly arched, his tone cold and devoid of any warmth.
