Isabella

Isabella had always been a sharp woman.

So when she had jokingly asked, "You've been hiding well, Thomas. Are you on a business trip?" it hadn't just been casual conversation.

It was a probe.

A lighthearted test to gauge his reaction—to see if he'd slip up or reveal anything interesting.

But Thomas?

He didn't react at all.

Not in the way most men would.

He didn't rush to explain himself. He didn't brag or try to impress her.

Instead, he just smirked, cool and unreadable, letting the weight of her words hang in the air before shifting the conversation elsewhere.

And that, in itself, told Isabella everything she needed to know.

This wasn't just some lucky guy who hit it big after college.

No, this was something else entirely.

A man who could drop over a hundred grand on a presidential suite without hesitation wasn't just "doing well."

That was the kind of wealth that came from being at the top of the food chain—the kind that made people treat you differently.

And the way the hotel staff was reacting to him? That confirmed it even further.

The receptionist had straightened up the moment he approached, her voice carrying an extra layer of politeness that wasn't there before.

When Thomas nonchalantly requested the presidential suite for seven days, the brief flicker of surprise in her eyes had been impossible to miss.

Yet, to Thomas, it was just another transaction.

He barely even blinked as he handed over his black metal credit card, the kind reserved for only the highest tier of the wealthy elite.

Isabella watched as the receptionist processed the payment. The moment the approval flashed on the screen, she noticed the tiniest shift in the woman's expression.

That subtle change in perception.

Just seconds ago, Thomas was just another guest. Now?

Now, he was someone worth remembering.

Someone who could afford anything.

And that… was interesting.

---

As the receptionist handed over the room key, she smiled.

"Mr. Blackwell, welcome to the Four Seasons. If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to call us."

Thomas took the key card, nodding slightly.

Then, turning to Isabella, he smirked.

"You coming up?"

Isabella arched a brow, but a smile tugged at her lips.

"Why not?"

She wasn't going to pretend she wasn't curious.

With that, the two of them stepped into the private elevator that led straight to the top floors.

The ride up was smooth and silent, but Isabella could feel the subtle tension in the air.

Not awkward tension, but rather the quiet electricity that came when two people were sizing each other up.

For years, Isabella had been used to men chasing after her—trying to impress her, trying to get her attention.

But Thomas?

He was the complete opposite.

He wasn't trying at all.

He wasn't flirting. He wasn't boasting.

He was just… there, exuding a quiet confidence that made him all the more intriguing.

And for someone like Isabella, that was rare.

Very rare.

---

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the luxurious top floor of the hotel.

Waiting for them was a well-dressed woman in her late twenties, standing gracefully with her hands clasped in front of her.

She had a polished, elegant demeanor, exuding the kind of refinement that came from years of working in high-end hospitality.

Flanking her were two hotel staff members, each standing at attention.

The woman gave a small, respectful nod.

"Good evening, Mr. Blackwell. I'm Andrea, your personal concierge during your stay. If you require anything—exclusive dining, private security, personal shopping—please don't hesitate to ask."

Her tone was pleasant, with just the slightest hint of warmth.

Not flirty, but… accommodating.

Like she had been trained to recognize VIP guests and treat them accordingly.

Thomas gave a simple nod.

"Got it."

Meanwhile, Isabella subtly adjusted her coat, smoothing out her outfit.

She wasn't sure why, but being greeted like this made her feel… different.

As if, for the first time in a long time, she was the one stepping into someone else's world rather than the other way around.

Andrea's gaze flickered briefly to Isabella, as if assessing whether she was a guest or just company for the night—but the concierge was too professional to let the thought show.

With that, she led them toward the suite, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors.

---

As soon as they stepped inside, Isabella couldn't help but let out a quiet breath.

Even for someone used to luxury, this was next-level.

High ceilings, panoramic city views, Italian leather furniture, and custom-made chandeliers that probably cost more than most people's yearly salary.

Everything in this suite screamed wealth and exclusivity.

Thomas casually tossed his laptop bag onto the coffee table and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, rolling his shoulders slightly.

Then, without looking at Isabella, he simply said—

"Make yourself comfortable. There's wine and champagne if you want."

Isabella walked over to the mini-bar, running her fingers over the selection of top-shelf bottles.

She had no doubt that everything here was imported and expensive.

Pouring herself a glass of red wine, she leaned back against the counter and watched as Thomas loosened his cuffs.

"And what about you?" she asked, swirling her glass lazily.

Thomas stretched.

"I'm going to take a shower."

For a brief second, Isabella paused.

It was subtle—almost imperceptible—but it was there.

A flicker of something behind her eyes.

Not shock, not disapproval… just a moment of thought.

Then, just as quickly, she smirked.

"Already?"

Thomas shrugged.

"Long day."

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed some fresh clothes and disappeared into the massive ensuite bathroom.

---

As the sound of running water filled the room, Isabella exhaled slowly.

Then, taking a slow sip of wine, she let her eyes wander across the suite again.

She had been in plenty of expensive hotels before, but something about this place felt different.

It wasn't just about the money.

It was about who owned it, who had access to it.

And right now, that person was Thomas Blackwell.

A man she had once thought of as just another smart classmate.

Now?

Now, he was something else entirely.

And she wasn't sure what intrigued her more—the wealth, or the man himself.

---

Fifteen Minutes Later

When Thomas emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a fresh button-up and dark slacks, Isabella had already made herself comfortable on the sofa.

She had kicked off her heels, her posture more relaxed, one leg crossed over the other.

She set her empty glass down and looked up at him.

"All done?"

The golden lighting of the suite cast a warm glow over her sharp cheekbones and long, flowing hair, emphasizing the confidence in her expression.

Thomas simply raised an eyebrow at her.

A slow smirk tugged at Isabella's lips.

"Well then, Mr. Blackwell… now that you've had your shower, what's next?"

Thomas chuckled, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

"Interesting."

This night was far from over.