Patricia's smile faded, pain returning, eyes dimming. "Because of the rumors. The judgment. Everyone knows Richard had an affair with an escort. Everyone knows Peter is that escort's son. If I showed Peter any affection, any kindness... people would think I was weak. Or stupid. Or that I was acknowledging Richard's affair in some way." Her voice broke, tears welling again, the weight of societal cruelty crushing her.

She sighed, a heavy, weary exhale that carried the weight of decades, her breath warm against his chest. "It's easier to play the part people expect. The bitter, scorned wife who hates everything connected to her husband's past. Let them think I hate Peter. Let them think I wanted him gone. It's safer that way." Her voice was laced with resignation, tears drying on her cheeks, but pain still raw.

"Do you hate Linda?" Eros asked, voice soft, probing gently, his fingers still threading through her hair. "Peter's mother?"

"Hate?" Patricia laughed, a soft, bitter sound, cracked with emotion. "HELL NO. I'm jealous of her."

"Jealous?" His tone curious, inviting, heart pounding as pieces fell into place.

"She gets to be called 'Mom' by that incredible boy. She gets to see him every day. Gets to be proud of him openly. Gets to love him without hiding it." Her voice broke, splintering, tears welling anew. "I would give anything to have what she has. But I lost that chance the day the DNA test came back negative."

Eros felt everything click into place. The system had known. That's why the mission existed. Patricia didn't hate him. She'd never hated him. She'd loved him from the moment he was born. His chest tightened, breath shallow, truth flooding him, rewriting his world.

Jack had lied about his mother's orders. The bullying was all Jack—his own jealousy, his own cruelty. Patricia had never wanted Peter hurt. She'd wanted the opposite. His heart ached, gratitude and love surging.

"Peter would be so happy to know how you feel," Eros said softly, voice thick with emotion, eyes burning.

Patricia shook her head, blonde hair shifting, tears spilling. "No. It doesn't matter. What matters is that he's happy. That he's safe. That Linda loves him the way he deserves. My feelings don't matter."

"That's stupid," Eros said, voice firm, unyielding.

She looked up at him, surprised, eyes wide, glistening.

"It's stupid and wrong and you deserve to tell him," Eros said firmly, gaze intense, holding hers. "You deserve to have him know that someone loved him before they even knew him. That someone wanted him even when circumstances made it impossible."

Patricia's eyes filled with tears again, fresh, overflowing, her lip trembling. "Maybe. But that's not the world we live in."

Eros cupped her face, palms gentle, thumbs brushing away tears, looked into her eyes, city lights reflecting in their depths. "Thank you," he said softly, voice raw, sincere.

"For what?" Her whisper fragile, confused.

"For telling me. For trusting me with this."

And then he kissed her.

This kiss was different from everything before. It wasn't about sex. Wasn't about desire or lust or physical need. It was emotional. Raw. Real. His lips soft, tender, pouring everything into it—his gratitude for her honesty, his understanding of who she really was beneath the mask, his love—yes, love—for the woman who had wanted to be his mother, who had loved him for seventeen years in secret, who had carried that love silently while the world thought she hated him.

Patricia melted into the kiss. Felt the shift. Felt something change between them that was deeper than anything physical. Felt seen in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with being understood. Her hands rose, cupping his face, tears mingling with their lips.

Before she realized what was happening, Eros swept her up and sat her on his lap, her legs straddling him, knees sinking into the mattress, his hands cradling her face like she was precious, the kiss deepening, growing more romantic, more intense, more real, tongues brushing softly, breaths mingling.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, chests heaving, Patricia looked at him with wonder, eyes wide, shining. "What was that?" she whispered, voice breathless, awed.

"That," Eros said softly, his eyes glowing in the dim light, a soft, ethereal shimmer, "was me falling in love with who you really are. Not the mask. Not the performance. The real Patricia who wanted to be a mother to a baby she had every reason to hate but loved anyway."

Patricia started crying again. But these were different tears. Happy tears. Relieved tears. Tears from finally being seen for who she really was instead of who people thought she should be. Sobs gentle, cathartic, her face buried in his neck.

Eros held her while she cried. Held the woman who had wanted to be his mother. Who had loved him before she knew him. Who had carried that love in secret for seventeen years. His arms tight, protective, his own tears silent, heart full.

And he understood now that sometimes the people you think hate you are just people who weren't allowed to love you the way they wanted to.

Sometimes the truth is buried so deep under rumors and judgment and pain that nobody remembers what actually happened. Sometimes all it takes is one honest conversation to change everything you thought you knew about your entire life.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Patricia straddling his lap, her thighs trembling slightly, knees sinking into the soft mattress, her marked body pressed close, breasts brushing his chest. Eros holding her face gently, palms warm, thumbs tracing the curve of her cheeks, brushing away lingering tears.

Both breathing hard from the emotional kiss, chests rising and falling in sync, hearts pounding, the air between them thick with something that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with connection, a profound, soul-deep bond.

Patricia's tears had slowed but her eyes were still wet. Still shining in the dim light from the city below, glistening like stars, reflecting the glittering skyline. She looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time. Really seeing him, his glowing eyes, his tender expression, the man beneath the god.

"Eros," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying and screaming and everything between, raw, vulnerable. "I need... I don't know what I need."

"What do you want?" he asked softly, his thumbs stroking her cheeks gently, soothing, inviting, voice a low, tender rumble.

"You," she said simply, eyes locked on his, honest, open. "But different. Not rough. Not fast. Just... close. I need to feel close to you. Is that stupid?"

"No," he said, his voice thick with emotion, eyes shimmering. "That's not stupid at all."

She shifted slightly on his lap and felt it—his cock, already hardening again beneath her, thick, hot, pressing against her slick, ruined pussy. The movement made her breath catch, a sharp inhale, made her pussy clench despite how used it already was, walls fluttering, a fresh pulse of slick.

"I want to," she whispered, looking into his glowing eyes, voice trembling. "But I want... can I...?"

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