"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 time meeting 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 something that grated on her nerves. He carried none of the elegance or refinement 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 messy demeanor, 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 ornaments and even told her to give him some time. Maybe all these years, no one had guided him.