Even a simple message, she replied coldly.
If someone is not behind all this, he wouldn't believe it for a second.
But the problem is, what is he considered now?
He doesn't even have the right to question.
In the end, he could only speak lowly: "Then... take good care of her for me."
Tristan Sterling chuckled lightly.
"Uncle, your words sound distant."
Curtis Prescott's face suddenly sank.
"Tristan, we're brothers. You spoke wrongly."
Tristan Sterling yawned lazily, his fingertips leisurely caressing the edge of the phone, his expression filled with indifference.
"Being brothers is so boring. Uncle is more intimate, right? It rolls off the tongue too."
Curtis Prescott gritted his teeth, his jawline tensed tightly, his roots aching.
A rush of anger surged in his chest, but he forcibly suppressed it.
Through the phone, he could imagine that person leaning back in his chair, a smile at the corner of his mouth.
He kept a cold face.
"Give the phone back to her."
