"You despicable scoundrel! My sister is sixteen years your junior.

How could you stoop so low?"

Mark retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness, "And you, sir, are no paragon of virtue.

Shall I recount the deeds you perpetrated upon Rena?

Tend to your own affairs first."

They engaged in a fierce battle, each devoid of mercy.

The servants in the vicinity observed from a distance, perplexed by the cause of the confrontation.

Peter, quick-witted, hurried into the mansion to summon Zoey.

Zoey arrived with haste.

She bore witness to her son and grandson-in-law locked in an intense struggle, their efforts marked by visible bruises marring their faces and bodies.

"Cease this at once!"

Zoey's angry voice reverberated.

Mark relented first, taking a step back as he regarded Waylen “We shall discuss this matter on another occasion. I must attend a meeting now."

Waylen wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, mocking with a bitter edge.

"Mr. Evans, how do you intend to present yourself at the meeting in such a state? Are you not afraid of becoming a subject of mockery, jeopardizing your meticulously cultivated image of perfection?"

Mark was rendered speechless, As Zoey positioned herself between the combatants, reproaching her son.

“Consider your age, consider Waylen's age. Ponder your actions more deeply. How can you stoop to fighting with one so junior? And to do so in the presence of the servants... How do you expect to instill discipline in others?"

Zoey's evident bias became apparent.

While inwardly cursing Waylen, Mark skillfully deceived his mother, his words laced with gentleness.

“It's about Rena. Mom, just leave this to me."

Zoey dissented.

"But aren't they getting along well now?"