As soon as Bai Zhiqing spoke, the people around immediately revealed mocking smiles, all turning to look at Zhao Lin as if he were a clown. They weren't fools—they could clearly hear the subtext in Bai Zhiqing's words, which was basically saying, "What are you, Zhao Lin? Mind your own business and scram as far away from me as you can. Don't bother trying to cozy up to me."
Zhao Lin was no fool either. He could hear the disdain in Bai Zhiqing's words and see it on her face, which made his complexion turn ugly in an instant. A cold light flickered in his eyes; Bai Zhiqing's words were undoubtedly a slap in his face, making him the joke of high society.
This was no different than a slap to his face. To him, money wasn't important; what mattered was face. Now that his face had been severely trampled underfoot, how could he hide his fury?
"Zhiqing, must you really do this?" Zhao Lin said, struggling to suppress the fury in his heart.
