In some versions it was Eros' fault. In some it was just that beautiful face of his. It didn't really matter in the end what the truth was, Aphrodite knew only that she adored Adonis beyond words. It wasn't what she had with Ares - the marriage of Love and War was a thing of sparring and high passions and equal footings. She could never claim Ares all for herself, never shackle him down. But Adonis? Adonis was all hers, a beautiful thing to be admired and shown off to the other Gods, a flawless prize that Aphrodite wanted to keep forever and ever. A possessive and jealous love was hers for Adonis. Maybe then it really was the work of magic.
She called down to the doorman and gave a description of Adonis - full of lavish praise - and said that he was to be sent right up. She sent away her nymph attendants, shooing them out of the building. She didn't want Adonis distracted from her in the least.
When she heard the elevator coming up, Aphrodite moved to the foyer of her apartment and waited for it to open. She had changed her clothes since hearing he was coming, putting on a low-cut dress of red silk to show her in her best light. She was not the all-powerful Olympian he'd once known. Still beautiful, yes, still able to turn men to her desires, but there was weakness there now, as there was with all of them. She was not the shining beacon she had once been.