Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 514

Chapter 514: The Truth of the Past

They lay tangled together in the massive bed. Sheets pulled haphazardly over their cooling bodies, damp with sweat and the lingering slick of their passion, clinging to marked skin. Patricia’s head rested on Eros’s chest, her blonde hair spread across his skin like silk, golden strands catching the faint glow of city lights, tangling with the dark curls of his chest hair.

His arms wrapped around her—one hand stroking her back absently, fingers tracing the ridges of her spine, brushing over bruises and bite marks with reverent care, the other holding her close, palm splayed possessively over her hip, thumb grazing a fresh welt.

Both still breathing a little hard, chests rising and falling in a slowing rhythm, hearts thudding in unison, echoes of their frenzy.

Both covered in marks and sweat and completely satisfied, bodies glistening, skin flushed, the air thick with the raw, musky scent of their union.

The room was quiet. Just their breathing, soft, uneven, mingling in the hush. The occasional distant sound of the city fifty-one floors below—a siren’s wail, the low hum of traffic, faint echoes of life far removed.

The lights of LA glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a sprawling constellation of gold and white, casting soft shadows across the bed, dancing over rumpled silk, highlighting the contours of their entwined forms.

Patricia felt... weightless. Like something heavy she’d been carrying for years had finally lifted, a crushing burden dissolved in the fire of his touch, her soul unburdened, floating. But beneath the satisfaction, beneath the afterglow, there was something else. Something restless.

Something that wouldn’t quiet, a gnawing ache, stirring in the depths, refusing to be silenced.

Eros felt it.

Felt the tension in her body that had nothing to do with exhaustion, a subtle coil of muscle, a faint tremor beneath her skin.

Felt the way her breathing wasn’t quite even, hitches, pauses, betraying turmoil.

Felt something beneath the surface that wasn’t sexual hunger—something deeper, older, more painful, a wound festering in silence.

His hand moved from her back to her hair, threading through the blonde strands gently, fingers combing with care, soothing, inviting.

"What’s on your mind?" he asked softly, voice a low, tender rumble, vibrating through his chest into her ear.

Patricia stiffened slightly against him, a reflexive guard, her body tensing. "Nothing. Just... thinking."

"Patricia." His voice was gentle but knowing, a quiet insistence, piercing her defenses. "I can tell something’s eating at you. Something that has nothing to do with what we just did. Something you haven’t talked about in a long time. Maybe ever."

She was quiet. Her fingers traced absent patterns on his chest—circles, lines, nothing deliberate, nails grazing lightly, unconscious, seeking anchor.

"You’re a stranger," she finally whispered, voice fragile, barely audible. "We just met few days ago. Doesn’t that sound stupid? Wanting to tell a stranger things I’ve never told anyone?"

"No," Eros said simply, voice steady, reassuring. "Sometimes strangers are easier. They don’t have history. They don’t judge the same way."

Patricia laughed softly—the sound bitter, a cracked, hollow note. "Or maybe I’m just desperate to tell someone. Anyone. Get it out of my head before it eats me alive."

"Then tell me," he said, voice warm, open, a safe harbor. "Whatever it is. I’m listening."

She was quiet for so long he thought she wouldn’t speak. The silence stretched, heavy, charged, her breath catching. Then she took a deep breath—shaky, like she was preparing to jump off a cliff, chest expanding against his.

"I had two best friends growing up," she started, her voice distant, layered with memory, thick with emotion. "Maria. Linda. The three of us... we were inseparable from the time we were eight years old. Did everything together. Sleepovers every weekend. Passing notes in class. First crushes." She chuckled...

"First heartbreaks. We were going to grow old together. Be in each other’s weddings. Raise our kids as cousins even though we weren’t related."

Eros felt a shiver run through him. Maria. Linda. His mothers. His real and then adoptive mother. They’d been childhood friends? Best friends since they were eight?

No one had ever told him this. Yes, he knew they were all friends but not so much to this extent. Linda never talked about Maria—not beyond the basics everyone already knew.

She’d shut down any questions about his mother like the subject was forbidden. And his grandmother, before she died, had made it clear that Maria’s name wasn’t to be mentioned. Especially not around his birthday—November 26nd, the day his mother died and the day he was born.

"We were about to enter college," Patricia continued, her voice thick with memory, tears welling, spilling onto his skin. "Nineteen years old. The whole world ahead of us. Plans to room together. Graduate together. Everything."

She pressed closer to him, seeking warmth despite the sheets, her body molding against his, skin still fever-hot, trembling faintly, her cheek flush against his chest, blonde hair spilling like a golden veil. "And then Maria just... disappeared."

Eros’s arms tightened around her instinctively, muscles coiling, a protective cage, his heart a sudden, thunderous drum, pulse racing as the name Maria sliced through him.

Patricia let out a long, shaky breath, chest heaving, a tremor rippling through her. "Because Maria did come back. Just... not the way we thought she would."

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