After a brief wait that seemed to stretch in the quiet of the bathroom, Joanna heard a soft knock. Ashton had returned.

Given the size of the villa’s staff, securing the necessary items had been efficient. Ashton handed her the supplies with a level of seriousness usually reserved for signing major contracts.

“Is this acceptable?” he asked, his voice steady but carrying a hint of genuine concern. “The staff assured me this was a high-quality option. If it’s not what you’re accustomed to, I’ll have someone source your preferred brand immediately.”

“This is perfectly fine, Ashton,” Joanna replied, her face heating up as she took the package. In her current situation, functional support was far more important than brand loyalty.

Ten minutes later, Joanna stepped back into the bedroom. The relief was immediate; the frantic uncertainty of the previous hour had settled into a manageable, albeit uncomfortable, reality. However, the physical toll was visible. Her usually vibrant complexion had faded into a pale, translucent shade that made her appear fragile under the morning light.

Ashton was waiting exactly where she had left him. The moment she appeared, his eyes narrowed, scanning her face with an intensity that made her heart skip. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out to gently tilt her chin upward.

“You look unwell,” he noted, his brow furrowed in a deep, troubled line. “Your color has shifted. Are you in physical distress beyond what we’ve discussed?”

Joanna leaned slightly into his touch, her strength flagging. “It’s just a dull ache in my lower abdomen,” she admitted. “It’s a common accompaniment to this time of the month.”

For Joanna, this was a recurring struggle. In years past, the discomfort had been so severe it required medical intervention. While her health had stabilized since then, the first day of her cycle remained a time when she preferred the stillness of her room over the demands of the world.

“A stomachache?” Ashton asked, his expression growing even more solemn. As a man whose life had been defined by a strict, isolated perimeter, the intricacies of a woman’s physiological experiences were a newly opened book. He lacked the casual ‘common sense’ that most men acquired through observation, making his approach to her situation one of pure, unfiltered concern.

“Where exactly is the pain?” he asked, his voice low and serious. “Do we need to call a specialist?”

Joanna was momentarily taken aback by his earnestness. She realized that for Ashton, this wasn't just a ‘domestic detail’—it was a health crisis affecting the person he had committed to protect.

“It’s menstrual pain, Ashton,” she explained patiently, touched by his focus. “It’s a natural, if unpleasant, part of the process. My body is just adjusting.”

“Menstrual pain,” Ashton repeated, as if committing the term to a permanent file in his mind.

“Yes. In the past, it was much worse,” she added, trying to lighten the mood. “There were times I felt completely incapacitated. Compared to that, this is manageable.”

But Ashton didn't look reassured. If anything, the knowledge that she had suffered such intensity in the past only deepened the line between his eyebrows. “That level of pain is considered manageable?”

“Well, it’s behind me now,” Joanna said quickly, reaching out to touch his arm. “I promise, it’s not as dire as it sounds. I just need a little rest, and it will be well within my tolerable limits.”

Ashton didn't pull away. He remained standing there, his gaze fixed on her pale face, his mind clearly working through a way to mitigate a situation he couldn't simply resolve with an executive order.

“Really, Ashton,” she insisted, offering him a small, sincere smile. “It doesn't hurt that much anymore. Having you here... that helps more than you know.”