"Mrs. Pierce."
Emma Pierce stared at the man as he entered and took a seat across from her, her brows tightening ever so slightly though her lips did not move.
Inwardly, however, she frowned. This was only her second ti eting her son, and yet, even now, she could not make sense of him.
Whether it was the way he had carried himself at the office before or the way he presented himself here tonight, there was sothing that grated on her nerves. He carried none of the elegance or refinent she had expected from a man in his position.
Instead, he struck her as an unpolished, arrogant brat who had no care for appearances. His ssy deanor, that piercing glinting against the light, the careless posture-everything about him looked like rebellion with no discipline.
She had tried, in her own way, to understand why he refused to clean himself up, why he would not discard such cheap ornants and even told her to give him so ti. Maybe all these years, no one had guided him.
But her thoughts tangled up the mont he lowered himself into the chair opposite her, and before she could stop herself, almost forgetting her original reason for calling him here, she blurted out, her tone sharper than intended, "Do you think you are so sort of rebellious teenager? What is with all these piercings and this... attitude?"
Adam paused halfway into his seat, one hand on the chair. For a fraction of a second, he did not move, as though weighing the absurdity of her words.
Then, unhurriedly, he lowered himself the rest of the way and sat back. His gaze, however, was anything but calm. He turned his head slightly, his cold eyes fixing on her with a stare so sharp that Emma felt the temperature in the room dip and she realised, she did not even know just how dangerous her own son was.
"Mrs. Pierce," he said at last, his voice deliberate, asured, every word carrying a sting. "It is a little too late in the day for you to suddenly play this motherly act. You forfeited that right long ago. And for another thing—this is hardly the ti to discuss such trivial matters. Right now, what you should be thinking about... is what I am going to do to you."
He leaned back, his expression as steady as ice. "You dared to kidnap my wife. You dared to try and use her as leverage against . Do you have any idea what that ans?"
His tone grew colder with each sentence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he went on. "If it were so other ti, under so other circumstance, perhaps I might have—" he paused briefly, his lips pressing together before he allowed the words to escape—"perhaps I might have considered letting you walk away. But now? Now I highly doubt it."
He let the silence stretch for a heartbeat before continuing, his voice lowering, edged with restrained fury. "My pregnant wife and I have just escaped an assassination attempt. We wanted to watch the woman who orchestrated it dragged away to prison. Do you understand what that does to a man? When I needed my wife the most—when I needed her by my side to remind my family is safe, that I am not alone—you decided to take her away from . You, Mrs. Pierce, robbed of that. And you dare to speak to about piercings?"
His jaw tightened, and though his words were calm, the nace beneath them was unmistakable. "Tell , in what twisted part of your brain did you imagine that such an act would encourage to give you a second chance? You think I will listen to petty remarks while my wife is missing?"
He leaned forward slightly, the shadow of his figure falling across the table. "So instead of wasting our breath on my appearance, let us speak of sothing more relevant. Let us discuss what it is you think you want in exchange for my wife."
"Because unless you choose your words very carefully now, Mrs. Pierce, this will be the last conversation you ever hold with ."
Emma’s breath caught as his words struck her, sharp and unrelenting. She sat rigidly in her chair, hands clasped in her lap to still their tremor. For a long mont, she could not bring herself to et his gaze. But she knew she could not let him crush her completely. She had to say sothing—anything—to make him see her side.
"You think I did this to hurt you," she said at last, her voice quieter than before but carrying a thread of determination. "But that is not true. I only wanted... a chance." Her eyes lifted slowly to et his, and for the first ti, there was no sharpness, no condescension in them, only a weary kind of pleading.
"A chance to be a family with you. To know you. To know her. To know my grandchild. That is all I wanted. I never ant to kidnap anyone, Adam. I would never dare to take your wife from you, or your child. I simply needed to make sure they were safe. Surely even you must see that—surely you must understand a mother’s worry."
Adam leaned back in his chair, watching her with that sa hard expression, though sothing faint flickered behind his eyes, sothing unreadable. His fingers drumd once against the table before going still. He let the silence stretch long enough to unnerve her before speaking again.
"Fine," he said at last, his voice cool. "Then bring my wife. Now."
But Emma, instead of leaping to obey, shook her head stubbornly, her lips pressing into a firm line. "No," she said, surprising even herself with the steadiness of her tone. "Not yet. First... I want sothing from you."
Adam’s eyes narrowed dangerously, suspicion sharpening his features. Of course she wanted sothing. There was always a price. He gave a short, bitter laugh that held no humor at all. "Naturally," he said with a grimace. "So tell —what is it this ti?"
Her hands tightened in her lap, but she forced herself to say it clearly.
"A promise. I want you to spend at least an hour with . Every day. Cordially. Sincerely. No cold silences, no hostility. Just ti... so we can get to know one another. Properly."
For a mont, Adam only stared at her, disbelief flashing in his eyes.
Then his jaw worked, and his hands clenched into fists on the armrests of his chair. He shook his head slowly, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and clipped, almost a growl. "One hour... once a week. That is the best you will get. And I will not discuss the past. Ever. If you try, this ends imdiately."
Emma opened her mouth to protest, but the look he gave her silenced her instantly. It was a look that told her he was not a man who would bend twice, not for her, not for anyone. She swallowed and lowered her eyes, nodding with reluctance.
"Very well," she murmured. "Once a week. That will be enough."
She drew in a steadying breath before lifting her gaze again. "Your wife... she is in the other room."
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