Page 27 of Loved By Aphrodite

But guilt always shadowed his heart. He couldn’t forget that their marriage was an arrangement, not a choice. Aphrodite was tied to him because of Zeus, not because she wanted to be. He often found himself questioning her motives, especially when he caught her staring out toward the horizon as if searching for something—or someone—beyond Thessaly.

Still, he couldn’t help but marvel at her. Her beauty was undeniable, but it wasn’t just that. It was her resilience, her determination to stay for Eros’s sake, that left him in awe. Hephaestus knew her love for her son anchored her to their home and to him. And while it stung that her reasons weren’t rooted in affection for him, he couldn’t fault her for it. Eros was a handful, but he was also lovable in his own chaotic way.

They were an unusual family—bound together by circumstance, held together by mutual care for a boy who deserved better than what fate had given him. And though Hephaestus sometimes had felt like an outsider in his own home, he couldn’t deny that they had created something fragile but real. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

Those days felt like a lifetime ago. Yet, even now, he couldn’t deny the strange, bittersweet comfort they brought him.

He shook his head. There was no time to dwell on the past—whatever his feelings, whatever the tangled mess between them, there were more pressing matters to focus on. Eros had unleashed something chaotic, and Aphrodite had trusted him to fix it. He would step up and do what he could.

He leaned forward and refocused on the lines of code scrolling across his monitor. Aphrodite’s magic had done its job perfectly, opening the app’s inner workings like a door left ajar. Her power never ceased to amaze him. Even when she wasn’t in the room, she left her mark, as undeniable as the warmth of the sun.

His fingers moved deftly over the keyboard, lines of his own counter-code seamlessly integrating into the app’s framework. He was close—so close he could almost taste victory.

But just as the final layer unraveled, a new window popped up, bold and unyielding: “Biometric Authorization Required.”

“Ti sto kaló?” He groaned. “Of course,” he muttered, combing a hand through his dark hair.

The biometric requirement wasn’t surprising, but it was infuriating. Whoever designed this app had thought ahead. He tapped a few keys, bypassing some rudimentary blocks to pull up a profile on the app’s creator. The name Matt Anchises appeared, along with a few scattered details.

He frowned. Anchises…The name pinged in the back of his mind like a distant bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. Shrugging it off for the moment, he did a quick internet search, expecting to find an ego-inflated tech genius flaunting his success. What he found instead was a missing person report.

“Matthew Anchises, 34, tech entrepreneur and founder of the matchmaking app ‘Winged,’ has been reported missing. Authorities have no leads.”

“Damn it,” he swore under his breath. Missing. This was getting more complicated by the minute.

He tapped rapidly at his keyboard, switching gears to track Anchises’s properties, real estate holdings, last known locations, financial transactions—anything that could give him a lead. A map of the City appeared, with dots representing Anchises’s known properties. Most were high-end apartments or office spaces, but one stood out: an older, seemingly abandoned building in Brooklyn.

He stared at the screen. “This guy better be there,” he muttered.

For a moment, he considered calling Aphrodite. She’d want to know, and she was probably better at dealing with people. But she was still asleep, and he was just following a hunch, so he thought it better to let her rest.

He got ready to leave and sent her a quick text: “Cracked the app. Found a lead.” He hit send, pocketed his phone, and made his way to the address tied to Matt Anchises.

The warehouse loomed like a forgotten relic of another era. Its rusted exterior was streaked with grime, and fadedlettering on the side hinted at some long-defunct shipping company. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of oil and damp wood. Shafts of light pierced through broken windows, illuminating floating dust motes. The cavernous space was filled with the echoes of his own movements—every step, every scuff of his boots against the concrete floor reverberated as though the building itself were alive. Empty pallets and rusted metal shelving lined the walls, and in one corner, a pile of debris suggested recent disuse. He moved cautiously, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of life or activity. The place was barren, stripped of anything valuable.

He frowned and stopped near the center of the warehouse and pulled out his phone. The lack of clues gnawed at him, and he muttered under his breath, “Where the hell are you hiding?” He scrolled through his notes, trying to piece together the next step when his phone suddenly rang.

The loud, unexpected sound startled him, and he nearly dropped it. Without thinking, he answered the video call. “Aphrodite?” he said as her image filled the screen. His heart lurched involuntarily. Even through a pixelated video feed, she looked stunning, her curls framing a furious face.

“Where are you?” she demanded, her tone sharper than a knife.

He opened his mouth to reply, but before a single word left his lips, she materialized beside him in a burst of light and power. “What the—” he managed, stumbling back slightly in surprise.

Aphrodite didn’t give him a chance to recover. “You’re out here, poking around in some creepy abandoned building, and you didn’t think to tell me? Do you even realize how dangerous this is? What if there’s a trap? Or worse—what if Eros isn’t involved, and….”

Her words came out in a torrent, her frustration and worry spilling over in waves. He knew this side of her well: a mix of righteous anger and fear she rarely showed anyone. But he also knew she could spiral if left unchecked.

And he was tired of standing by.

He stepped forward and grasped her by the arms, his touch firm but careful. She stopped mid-rant, startled by the sudden contact. Her eyes widened as his face moved closer.

Then he kissed her.

Her initial surprise melted into softness as she leaned into him, her hands tentatively gripping his shirt. The kiss was gentle, telling her without words that everything would be okay. His lips moved against hers with care, steady and deliberate, and when they pulled apart, the air between them seemed to hum, their foreheads gently touched, as they shared the quiet, intimate moment.

“If you’ll let me talk,” he said against her lips, “I can explain everything.”

She blinked, then nodded, her breath shaky. “Okay,” she whispered.

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