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Then, with a “bang,” she slammed the door in his face.

The commotion attracted quite an audience, including the servants and Bo Yi and Xia Sicai from the next room.

Fortunately, Bo Yan had dressed quickly, but there he was, barefoot and holding a pillow, his hair a mess—a man clearly thrown out by his wife.

Bo Yi certainly wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to mock him, laughing with his arms crossed, “Yo, bright and early, what did you do to get Siyu to kick you out?”

In front of others, even in his current dishevelment, his expression remained calm, especially upon facing Bo Yi and Xia Sicai.

He replied with composure, “It’s nothing. Just a lover’s quarrel that’ll be made up by bedtime.”

Upon hearing him mention “bed,” Xia Sicai’s gaze shifted slightly, only to notice visible nail scratches on his face and neck, as if clawed by a woman.

Bo Yan having relations with Xia Siyu wasn’t a surprise to Xia Sicai. They were legitimately married, and even without much emotion between them, physical intimacy was expected. Even if they didn’t interact, having a child for the sake of long-term planning and maintaining mutual marital interests, was not uncommon.

But what was unexpected was that after three years of acting like strangers, their interactions had surged in the past few months.

Could these two be scheming something? Like last night, for instance, when Bo Yan deliberately didn’t go on stage, failing to give the old man face.

Was he challenging him, expressing dissatisfaction with handing Bosch Corporation over to Ayi?

Were he and Xia Siyu joining forces, utilizing her influence in a tag-team marriage?

Of course, these thoughts spun around in her head a few times, but she didn’t voice them.

Bo Yi, clueless, continued to jeer, “Tsk, tsk, looks like it was quite a fight, you even got marks on your face. Going to need some concealer for events, huh?”

Bo Yan was not the least bit angered, his gaze lowered to Bo Yi’s wrist, staring intensely.

Bo Yi caught his look and immediately got heated. Was he mocking the fact that not only had he lost the match, injured his hand, but also ended up eight hundred thousand poorer?

While they were talking, the voice of the Bo patriarch came from downstairs, “What’s all this noise?”

Then came the sound of his footsteps, quickly ascending. He swept a glance over the younger generation and soon spotted Bo Yan, hugging a pillow, without even slippers on, and frowned.

He turned around, “Bo Yan, you come with me to the study.”

Bo Yi began to take delight in another’s misfortune—serves him right, as grandpa was supposed to reprimand him last night. Bo Yan wasn’t flustered in the slightest; without even putting on slippers or straightening his clothes, he followed the old man to the study, carrying the pillow.

Once inside the study, the door closed, the Bo patriarch sighed heavily.

He turned back, looking at his grandson.

In fact, Bo Yan was much more outstanding than Bo Yi, and how could he not know that. Bo Yan had always been reserved and studious, smart and composed. Bo Yi, on the other hand, was impulsive and quick to anger, always seeking to claim superiority in everything.