Just then he notices, on the wall there were several trophies and certificates framed. He walked towards it gazing at those achievements with towel in his hands drying his hair.
"Ashton… The breakfast is ready." Jenny called him standing at the door. Ashton shifts his gaze. Jenny was standing at the door frame
"Yeah… Where should I keep the towel?"
Jenny took the towel from Ashton, her fingers barely grazing his as she did. She quickly turned away, heading to the laundry basket in the corner, but not before he caught the faint pink dusting her cheeks. He smirked. She was clearly flustered.
After what they both have done, they both felt a wave of embarrassment facing each other. Jenny would not look at him, she was avoiding eye contact.
"Come on," she said, clearing her throat. "Breakfast is getting cold."
Ashton followed her through the massive hallway, his bare feet making light sounds against the polished marble. The house—no, the mansion—was unreal. A place so big it felt almost empty. The high ceilings, intricate chandeliers, and paintings that probably cost more than his entire apartment made it obvious—Jenny was rich. Rich rich.
They descended the grand staircase, the soft golden light spilling through the tall windows. Everything about this place screamed luxury, but at the same time, it was oddly quiet.
As they reached the dining hall, Ashton took in the absurdly long table, the kind you'd see in movies where billionaires ate alone at one end. But instead of the vast table being set, there were only two plates, side by side, in the middle of the grand space.
Jenny hesitated before pulling out a chair for herself, sitting down a bit too quickly. Ashton sat across from her, eyeing the plate in front of him. Two slices of toast—one slightly burnt at the edges—and an omelette that looked… interesting.
"You… made this?" he asked, raising a brow.
Jenny pursed her lips. "Yeah."
"You sure?"
She shot him a look before glancing away, suddenly very interested in her glass of orange juice. "I mean… the chef usually does the cooking, but I thought I'd… you know, try."
Ashton picked up his fork, nudging the omelette slightly. It didn't move, which was either a good sign or a very bad one.
"You don't cook often, do you?" he asked, amusement creeping into his voice.
Jenny exhaled sharply. "I—okay, no, I don't." Her voice got low.
Ashton grinned. "Hey, at least you tried."
"Yeah" she muttered.
He smiled before finally taking a bite. The toast was extra crispy—maybe too crispy—and the omelette was… well, edible. Kind of. He chewed thoughtfully, watching her nervously fiddle with the hem of her oversized gown.
"It's not bad," he said after swallowing.
Jenny's gaze shot up to meet his. "You're lying."
"A little," he admitted with a smirk.
Jenny groaned, dropping her face into her hands. "I knew it. I should've just ordered something."
Ashton chuckled, taking another bite anyway. "Nah. There's something charming about food that tastes like mild regret and effort."
She peeked at him through her fingers. "You're the worst."
"And yet, here I am, eating the disaster you made with a smile on my face."
Jenny grabbed a napkin and tossed it at him. "Shut up and eat."
Ashton caught it mid-air, laughing. The awkwardness that had lingered between them—the unspoken tension from what had happened earlier—was slowly dissolving into something else. Something lighter.
And for the first time after intimacy, Jenny met his gaze and smiled. A real one. One that made Ashton think, She's so pretty when she smiles.
He leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Hey, why don't you feed me with your hands?"
Jenny, still staring at her orange juice, let out a small chuckle before shifting her gaze back to him. "You want to be fed?"
"Yeah," Ashton said playfully. "Food tastes better when someone else feeds you."
Jenny rolled her eyes but picked up a spoonful of omelette, bringing it toward him. "You're ridiculous," she muttered, but there was amusement in her voice. She was smiling.
Ashton leaned in, taking the bite from her hand. He chewed slowly, letting the moment stretch between them before swallowing. "See? Tastes way better now."
Jenny's lips curled into a soft smile as she watched him. Her fingers lingered around the spoon, hesitating for a brief moment before she whispered, "Oh god… I love you so much."
Ashton's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected her to say it so suddenly, but hearing those words from her lips made something shift inside him. He reached out, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I love you too, Jenny."
Before he could say anything else, Jenny plunged into his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. She didn't say another word—just held onto him like she never wanted to let go.
Ashton exhaled, his arms instinctively wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, fast and unsteady, mirroring his own.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The world around them faded into the background—the extravagant dining hall, the cold marble floors, the untouched food. All that mattered was this moment, their warmth, the quiet understanding between them.
Jenny stayed in his embrace for what felt like forever, her arms wrapped around his neck, her breath warm against his skin. Ashton ran a hand down her back, holding her close, feeling the rise and fall of her breath.
But then, as if suddenly realizing how intimate the moment had become, Jenny pulled back slightly. Her face was still inches from his, her cheeks tinged with a soft pink.
She cleared her throat, attempting to regain her composure. "W-We should eat before the food gets cold."
Ashton smirked, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "You're blushing."
"No, I'm not," she shot back quickly, turning her head away, but he caught the way her lips twitched as if fighting back a smile.
Chuckling, he finally let her go, allowing her to retreat to her seat. Jenny took a sip of her orange juice, clearly trying to focus on anything except him. Ashton, however, couldn't take his eyes off her.
She was different from the girls he'd met before. She had this rich, untouchable aura, the kind that made people admire her from afar, yet here she was—shy, vulnerable, and undeniably real in front of him.