I Don't Have A Girlfriend

With a single thought, I realized—I had missed a true heir to wealth. And not just any heir, but one at his purest stage, before he became untouchable.

Most women would regret such a mistake.

And right now, Isabella Monroe was feeling exactly that.

If, back in college, she hadn't overthought things—if she hadn't judged Thomas Blackwell based on his clothes, his lack of flaunting wealth—then right now, she would be the woman sitting beside him as the mistress of this penthouse suite. Not just an old classmate trying to cozy up to him.

"I was too smart for my own good back then..."

Isabella had always been calculated. She understood men—their desires, their priorities, what they valued most.

That was why, throughout university, she had never seriously dated anyone.

Sure, there had been plenty of guys from well-off families on campus, but none of them were truly wealthy, the kind of men who would one day own empires.

She had been patient, unwilling to waste herself on fleeting romances. She knew that for a woman, certain things held value—things that, once lost, could never be regained.

No matter how modern people pretended to be, the most powerful men always cared about such things.

Recovering from her thoughts, Isabella looked up at Thomas, her curiosity piqued.

"Aren't you afraid your girlfriends will find out about each other and start drama?"

Thomas shrugged, completely unfazed.

"If they make a scene, they make a scene. Easy come, easy go," he said casually.

His words made Isabella bite her lip. She didn't like that answer.

But deep down, she knew—this was Thomas's reality. If she wanted to be part of his world, this was the price of admission.

After a brief silence, she suddenly smiled and asked, "Are all men like you?"

Thomas gave her a sideways glance, then chuckled.

"Hard to say. Everyone has their own approach to life."

"And what about you?" Isabella tilted her head slightly. "Are you just planning to stay single forever? No marriage?"

"Marriage? That's a long way off," Thomas said, leaning back against the sofa. His sharp eyes gleamed with amusement.

Feeling the intensity of his gaze, Isabella shifted slightly in her seat, adjusting her posture.

Thomas caught the small movement and smirked.

"For now, I'm just living life. If I happen to have a few women with me along the way, even better."

Isabella couldn't help but laugh softly. She reached for the wine bottle and poured herself a glass.

After taking a sip, she studied Thomas thoughtfully.

"You know, women age fast after thirty. Will you still like them then?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I? If a woman stays by my side, she's mine. Why would I discard her?"

Isabella twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers, her smile deepening.

"I wouldn't have expected someone like you to be so... nostalgic."

Thomas chuckled. "Call it nostalgia. Call it possessiveness. Either way, it's the same thing."

The confident tone in his voice made Isabella pause for a moment. Then, after some hesitation, she asked, "Thomas... can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," he said, watching her with mild curiosity.

She hesitated before finally speaking.

"Why didn't you chase me in college?"

Thomas blinked, caught off guard for the first time that night.

Then, with a helpless smile, he shrugged.

"You had too many guys after you back then. I didn't have the confidence."

His answer wasn't what Isabella had expected.

She stared at him for a moment, feeling both frustrated and amused.

"Liar."

Even back then, Thomas had stood out—his intelligence, his quiet confidence, the way he carried himself.

"Please," she scoffed. "If there was anyone in that school who actually came from real wealth, it was you."

Thomas just laughed, not bothering to argue.

Instead, he turned the question back on her.

"What about you? Didn't you date anyone after graduation?"

"Please," Isabella scoffed again. "A decent man is harder to find than a pig that can climb trees."

Thomas smirked but didn't press the subject.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Thomas stood up and opened the door.

"Mr. Blackwell, your order has arrived," Andy, his personal assistant, greeted him with a respectful smile.

Behind Andy, a sleek clothing rack stood loaded with casual suits, dress shirts, coats, ties, and polished leather shoes.

Thomas glanced over the selection. He didn't know much about fashion, but even he could tell—these were premium.

Nodding in approval, he said, "Looks good. Charge it to my account, along with the meal."

"Of course, sir. The total for the clothing comes to $35,000. Including your dinner order, the full amount is $45,000."

Isabella nearly choked on her wine.

Forty-five thousand. Just like that.

Without hesitation, Thomas disappeared into the bathroom, retrieved his card, and handed it over. A quick swipe, a signature, and the transaction was done.

Andy smiled. "Mr. Blackwell, the boutique is still open. If anything doesn't fit, we can replace it immediately."

"No need," Thomas said. "You didn't ask for my measurements, which means you're a pro."

Andy bowed slightly. "Thank you for your trust, sir. Your meal will arrive in about ten minutes."

With that, he motioned to the two female attendants behind him, who carried the garments inside before departing.

As Thomas returned to the living room, Isabella's phone suddenly lit up with an incoming video call.

The moment she saw the name, her expression shifted slightly.

Before Thomas could comment, she declined the call.

But just seconds later, the phone rang again.

Thomas leaned against the couch, watching her with mild amusement.

"You can answer it," he said lazily. "If it's inconvenient, I can step away."

Isabella immediately shook her head. "No, it's nothing like that! I don't have a boyfriend."

Then, with a quick breath, she answered the call.

"Isabella! What took you so long to pick up?" a female voice whined through the speaker.

"Yeah, where are you right now? Living it up?" another voice chimed in.

Thomas smirked, watching Isabella struggle to suppress her flustered reaction.

She was still trying to process everything that had happened tonight.

But one thing was clear—this wasn't the same Thomas Blackwell she had known in college.

And for the first time, she wondered…

Had she miscalculated?