Isabella (2)

Seeing Isabella Monroe exuding a seductive aura, Thomas Blackwell raised an eyebrow.

"The campus queen is still the campus queen. Even after graduation, you're just as captivating..."

His voice was casual, but there was an undeniable edge of amusement in his tone. He ran a towel through his damp black hair, wiping away the water droplets. Dressed in a loosely fitted bathrobe, his well-defined physique was faintly visible beneath the fabric. He exuded a confidence that was neither forced nor arrogant—just natural.

Isabella, seated elegantly on the plush sofa, crossed her legs with effortless grace. The soft glow of the penthouse lighting accentuated her fair complexion, and her silky blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. She looked exactly as she had in college—stunning, poised, and completely aware of her own allure.

Hearing Thomas's words, she smiled playfully but didn't respond immediately. Instead, she reached for the crystal glass in front of her and swirled the red wine inside before placing it back on the table without taking a sip.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Not drinking? Not your style?"

"There's work later," Isabella said smoothly, her voice carrying an unmistakable charm. "Drinking can lead to... mistakes."

She slightly emphasized the last word.

Her meaning was ambiguous, but Thomas wasn't the type to overthink such things. He simply smirked.

"Fair enough."

Whether Isabella had said it intentionally or not didn't matter to him.

If something happened, great. If not, no big deal.

A man who constantly chased after women, only to be left empty-handed, was just pitiful. Thomas was no fool—he wasn't the type to bend over backward for someone who wasn't interested. If she wanted to play games, she could play them alone.

That being said, Isabella Monroe was undeniably a beautiful woman. If she came to him willingly, he wouldn't refuse.

Hearing the ease in his voice, Isabella's heart skipped a beat.

That was the tone she hated the most—casual indifference.

It meant that he didn't care. It meant that, to him, she wasn't that important.

For a woman who had always been pursued, who had always been in control of relationships, this was a rare and unfamiliar experience.

She bit her lower lip lightly, a trace of unwillingness flashing in her eyes.

Thomas, on the other hand, remained utterly relaxed.

He reached for the wine glass in front of him, took a small sip, and immediately frowned.

"This taste..."

Without hesitation, he placed the glass back on the table.

He had never been a fan of red wine, nor did he have any interest in pretending to be some kind of connoisseur.

Drinking wine and acting refined just to impress others?

Pointless.

Instead of wasting time on appearances, he picked up his phone and pressed a button.

Within three seconds, the call connected.

"Mr. Blackwell, what can I do for you?" A respectful voice came from the other end.

"Bring me a set of clothes, top to bottom. Make sure the brand and style match."

Thomas's clothes were all back at his rented apartment. He had no intention of going back for them—it wasn't worth the time or effort.

"Understood, Mr. Blackwell. Anything else?" Andy, his butler, responded promptly.

"Yeah. Bring up some food." Thomas turned to Isabella, meeting her gaze. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Not yet," she admitted, though she hadn't expected him to ask.

Without hesitation, Thomas spoke into the phone.

"Two orders of garlic butter lobster, two plates of pan-seared foie gras, two fruit salads, two bottles of Ace of Spades, and two Kobe steaks. One fully cooked. The other..."

He glanced at Isabella. "How do you like yours?"

"Fully cooked..." she replied, a bit uncomfortably.

She recognized every dish he had just listed. And more importantly, she knew exactly how much they cost.

This meal alone was worth at least half a year's salary.

"Two fully cooked, then," Thomas confirmed.

The whole thing about ordering steak "the proper way" was nonsense to him. He liked his steak the way he liked it—fully cooked, no blood.

As for the Ace of Spades, he had never properly tried it before. People said it had a distinct fruity aroma, so he figured he'd give it a shot.

Isabella, on the other hand, had only ordered hers fully cooked to align with Thomas.

If she had been eating with someone else, she probably would've gone with medium.

"Understood, Mr. Blackwell. I'll bring everything shortly." Andy's voice remained respectful before the call ended.

Thomas put his phone down and leaned back in his seat, now fully focused on Isabella.

She was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, the hem of her black skirt riding up slightly. Her long, slender legs were wrapped in sheer stockings, highlighting their flawless shape.

They weren't too thick or too thin—just perfect.

And although her boots covered part of them, that only made them look more enticing.

The scene was undeniably alluring.

Noticing his gaze, Isabella felt a small sense of satisfaction. But she kept her expression neutral.

Instead, she gave him a teasing smile. "Thomas, what's the deal with you? This meal alone costs a fortune—it's way too extravagant."

Thomas shrugged. "I'm just an unemployed drifter. If you must know, I collect rent for a living."

Isabella blinked.

Rent collection?

She had heard of wealthy real estate investors before, but the way he said it so casually…

It was only then that she realized—Thomas Blackwell wasn't just rich.

He was loaded.

A second-generation landlord. A man who didn't even need to work if he didn't want to.

And yet, she had gone through four years of college without ever realizing it.

A strange emotion surfaced in her heart.

Regret.

She remembered how Thomas had looked at her back in university.

He had definitely been interested. She had known it, but she had never responded.

If she had, even just a little bit…

Maybe she wouldn't be sitting here feeling this way.

But before she could dwell on it, she decided to change the subject.

"So where's your girlfriend?" she asked casually. "Aren't you worried about being out alone like this?"

She wasn't about to push too hard about his "rent collection."

Smart women knew when to stop.

"Which girlfriend are you referring to?" Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow.

Isabella froze.

Which girlfriend?

How many did he have?!

A wave of jealousy and regret washed over her.

She had miscalculated.

Badly.