Ashton looked at her, his expression a mixture of genuine perplexity and growing concern. It wasn’t that he lacked basic awareness, but in his meticulously controlled and isolated world, such domestic specifics had never required his personal attention.

“Joanna,” he said, his voice lowering as he tried to bridge the gap in their understanding. “When you say ‘aunt flo,’ are you referring to a scheduled guest?”

Joanna felt a fresh wave of heat settle in her cheeks. She realized that for a man like Ashton Heath—who handled global crises with ease—the subtle euphemisms of a woman’s life were a foreign language. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage to speak with necessary clarity.

“It’s not a guest, Ashton,” she explained, her voice steady despite her embarrassment. “It’s my monthly cycle. I wasn't prepared for it to start today, and I don't have the necessary supplies with me. I need your help to acquire them... urgently.”

As she finished, Joanna felt as if her entire face were on fire. Even with the most sophisticated man, discussing such private necessities was a test of her composure.

The realization finally registered in Ashton’s dark eyes. The lingering tension in his frame—the silent shadow of feeling rejected moments ago—evaporated instantly. A subtle, almost self-deprecating smile touched his lips as he walked toward the bathroom door where she remained tucked away.

“So,” he murmured, his voice now devoid of any frostiness, “the sudden distance wasn't a change of heart, but a matter of timing?”

Joanna nodded quickly. “Yes. And I’d prefer to stay right here until I’m prepared. I don’t want to cause any... inconvenience to the room.”

Ashton looked down at her, his brow softening. He understood her unspoken concern for the pristine environment he maintained. “Don’t worry about the room, Joanna. Worry about your comfort. I’ll handle the logistics immediately.”

“Please, just go quickly,” she urged, her voice carry a hint of the physical discomfort that was starting to set in.

“I’m going,” he assured her, his tone shifting into a decisive, protective register. He turned and headed for the door with the same purpose he applied to a high-stakes negotiation.

Downstairs

Ashton reached the main hall and signaled to a passing staff member. The maid stopped instantly, sensing the gravity in his expression.

“Mr. Ashton? How can I assist you?”

Ashton cleared his throat, a rare flicker of unease crossing his handsome features. He was a man accustomed to giving orders for multi-million dollar acquisitions, yet this specific request required a different kind of finesse. He maintained a professional, calm facade, though his voice carried a trace of the unfamiliar situation.

“I need to secure specific personal supplies for Mrs. Joanna,” he began, choosing his words with care. “It’s a matter of her immediate comfort regarding her monthly cycle. Do we have the necessary items on hand, or do I need to send someone to the city?”

While Mr. Rowan was meticulous in stocking the villa with high-end skincare, silk linens, and designer apparel, the more practical, recurring necessities of a woman’s life had been overlooked in their initial preparations—a rare oversight in an otherwise perfect household.

The maid was momentarily stunned. It was the first time she had seen the formidable Mr. Heath personally intervene in such a domestic detail. A light blush rose to her own cheeks as she realized the level of care he was showing for his wife.

“We keep a stock for the staff, Mr. Ashton,” she replied, lowering her head respectfully. “I will fetch the highest quality options we have and bring them up immediately. Please, give me just a moment.”

Ashton nodded, his posture regaining its usual composed strength. “Thank you. Ensure it is handled with the utmost discretion and speed.”