36: Chapter 36: You Are My Wife, Ashton Heath

Ashton leaned in slightly, his voice a low, steady resonance that seemed to anchor her in the unfamiliar luxury of the room. “There is no need for unease, Joanna,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of a firm promise. “As my wife, this level of respect is not an anomaly—it is your inherent right. In time, you will realize that the protection and standing offered by the Heath name are far more than just social etiquette.”

The proximity was undeniable. As he spoke, Joanna could feel the steady calm radiating from him, his presence enveloping her in a scent that was elegant and grounding—a mixture of sandalwood and something distinctly, undeniably him.

Her pulse quickened, a staccato rhythm against her ribs. In all her time with David Benington, she had never felt this specific kind of intensity. It wasn't just closeness; it was a total, silent alignment of their worlds.

“Ashton...” she began, turning her head to suggest a bit more professional distance. But the movement was mistimed. As she turned, her cheek brushed against the curve of his smile, a brief, accidental contact that felt like a spark in the quiet space.

Both froze for a heartbeat.

Joanna stared at him, a flush warming her cheeks that no amount of composure could hide. She bit her lip, her eyes bright with a mixture of shyness and a dawning, restless curiosity.

Ashton, too, remained still for several seconds. He watched the way the color rose to her face, his gaze deepening with an undisguised focus. In that silence, the cold, indifferent exterior he showed the world was nowhere to be found.

To the side, Manager Moore stood in a state of professional shock. The rumors surrounding Ashton Heath were legendary—that he was a man of steel, immune to the most calculated charms of the elite. There were stories of high-profile figures attempting to secure his attention through increasingly desperate means, only to be met with a cold, absolute rejection and permanent social exile. Everyone believed Ashton Heath was a man meant to be admired from a distance, never touched.

Yet here, in the soft light of the 68th floor, the initiator was undeniably Mr. Heath himself. The dynamic was unprecedented. It wasn't about a "type" or a superficial preference; it was the way his coldness seemed to thaw specifically in the presence of the woman beside him.

Even after they were seated, the warmth in Joanna’s face remained. Every time the memory of that accidental contact flickered in her mind, her heartbeat would surge again.

Ashton’s gaze never wavered. He watched her with a direct, fervent focus that felt like an invitation to a world she didn't yet understand. Joanna kept her eyes on the table setting, her mind racing.

Why is everything different with him? she wondered. With David, life had been predictable, a series of comfortable expectations. But with Ashton Heath... every moment felt like a threshold. She felt a sense of panic, yes, but beneath it was a growing realization that her life—and her heart—were being irrevocably reshaped by the man sitting across from her.