money is power

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Four Seasons Presidential Suite – New York City

From the moment Thomas Blackwell checked into the Four Seasons' presidential suite, Isabella Monroe had been subtly testing the waters.

The way she carried herself, the way she laughed just a little longer at his remarks, the way she positioned herself closer to him than was necessary—it was all deliberate.

Her goal was clear—secure a place in Thomas's world.

She wasn't obvious about it, but Thomas had met countless women like her before.

Women who had once ignored him, dismissed him, placed him in the background—only to turn around and seek his attention the moment he became untouchable.

Isabella wasn't desperate.

She was calculating.

And Thomas knew it.

But instead of rejecting her, he played along, letting her believe she was closing the distance between them, when in reality, he was setting the pace.

In the end, he won, and she gave in.

This was what Thomas wanted.

And this was the power of wealth.

He understood now—without money, a man was invisible.

Without money, the most he could hope for was a polite conversation—a fleeting moment of attention before the woman moved on to someone better.

Now?

He was the one women chased.

Seated on the luxurious leather couch, with his former college crush nestled against him, Thomas had a clearer understanding of what money truly meant.

It wasn't just about buying luxury cars, penthouses, or the best suits—it was about power.

And in the end, all of his realizations condensed into a single word—

Power.

Yes, this was power. Power that resonated from the inside out.

Years ago, he had been nothing more than a broke college student, juggling two part-time jobs just to afford tuition and rent.

He remembered those nights—staring at the ceiling of his tiny apartment, wondering if he'd ever escape the grind.

Now?

He could drop six figures in a single evening without blinking.

And women like Isabella—the type that never gave him a second glance before—now looked at him like he was the center of the universe.

Anyone in his position would feel the same.

And Thomas was no exception.

---

"Ding-dong."

The doorbell rang.

Isabella stirred, but quickly composed herself, slipping out of his arms and heading for the door.

When Andy, the butler, saw her answer, he gave a polite nod before motioning for the hotel staff to wheel in a dining cart.

"Mr. Blackwell, your dinner has arrived. Shall I serve it now?"

Thomas smirked. "Just open the champagne."

"Understood, sir."

Andy stepped forward, removing the gold foil from a bottle of Dom Pérignon, before expertly popping the cork.

As the waiters finished setting the table, Andy gave a slight bow.

"Enjoy your meal, Mr. Blackwell. If you require anything, just ring."

Thomas gave a casual nod, and with that, the staff quietly exited, leaving them alone in the suite.

Andy was a professional—one who knew when to step back.

It was obvious that Isabella and Thomas's relationship had shifted over the course of the evening.

No need for a third party to linger.

Once the door clicked shut, Thomas turned toward Isabella and said, "Let's eat."

"Of course."

Without hesitation, Isabella walked over to the dining table, pulled out a chair, and gestured for Thomas to sit.

At that moment, she made her choice.

She abandoned her reservations, let go of her pride, and shed the aloof demeanor she once had.

All that remained was poise, attentiveness, and understanding.

She knew her place in Thomas's world—not a lover, not a girlfriend, but a woman who wanted to stay close to power.

She had waited too long in college, and now, she wouldn't repeat that mistake.

Thomas noticed the change in her behavior.

Her actions were calculated, but not desperate.

She had studied the game and played it well.

"If those college guys who used to chase you saw this, I wonder how they'd react…"

A smirk played on his lips as he cut into his Kobe steak.

Isabella didn't miss a beat.

She simply smiled, poured them both a glass of champagne, and took a sip.

Thomas didn't mind a woman who valued wealth and power—

As long as she played by his rules.

And for now, she was doing just that.

---

The meal was exceptional.

The Kobe steak was tender and richly marbled.

The garlic butter lobster melted on the tongue.

The French foie gras, however, wasn't to his liking—he set it aside after a single bite.

As for the Dom Pérignon, it was exactly as he expected—smooth, crisp, and carrying just the right amount of floral and citrus notes.

After about twenty minutes, a rosy hue crept onto Isabella's cheeks.

She wasn't drunk, but she was talking more freely now.

Thomas took out his phone and sent a quick text to Andy.

Within minutes, the waitstaff returned, quietly clearing away the dining cart before leaving once again.

As soon as they were alone, Thomas noticed Isabella watching him intently, her glass cradled in her hands.

He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

She hesitated before setting her glass down and moving closer.

Then, she asked in a soft but firm voice,

"You're not going to just walk away, are you?"

Thomas chuckled, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.

"That depends. Don't get any ideas about playing games."

He wasn't naive.

He had seen far too many women like Isabella—the kind who, once inside a wealthy man's circle, started seeking other thrills.

Some chased excitement. Others let their hearts wander.

Either way, the result was the same.

Thomas had zero patience for women who thought they could have their cake and eat it too.

If Isabella overstepped, he wouldn't just walk away—he'd make sure she regretted it.

That was simply how this world worked.

She looked momentarily stunned but then quickly composed herself.

"I'm not that kind of woman, Thomas."

He leaned back, studying her reaction.

After a moment, he gave a slight nod.

"Good. Now go take a shower."

She blinked, then let out a small laugh before obeying.

With a graceful stride, she disappeared into the en-suite bathroom.

---

The sound of running water filled the suite.

Unlike a standard hotel bathroom, the one in the Four Seasons' presidential suite was spacious, enclosed, and private.

From where he sat, Thomas couldn't see her—but he didn't need to.

There was no rush.

Some things were better when taken slowly.

After about thirty minutes, Isabella re-emerged, wrapped in a plush white bathrobe.

Even covered, her figure was undeniable.

Thomas watched as she crossed the room, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

This same woman had once been out of reach.

Now, she stood before him—his.

Thinking of that, Thomas stepped forward, Isabella Monroe lowered her gaze, a faint blush on her cheeks.

Although she had made a choice, she had not yet fully handed herself over.

The anticipation, the tension—it was impossible not to feel nervous or shy.

Thomas looked at her, taking in her delicate features, and asked with a slight smirk, "Shall we?"

"…Yes," Isabella whispered, barely audible.

That soft, hesitant response ignited something deep within Thomas.

With a confident motion, he swept Isabella into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom.

There were moments in life that defined a man—achieving greatness, claiming victory, and now, this.

A woman he had once only admired from afar was now in his arms, willingly, with no hesitation.

The night unfolded like a dream—city lights casting shifting shadows across the room, rain tapping lightly against the windows, and the muffled hum of the world outside fading into irrelevance.

---

The Next Morning

At dawn, Thomas opened his eyes to find Isabella draped across his arm like a sleeping koala.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips.

"Didn't expect to win the jackpot…"

Isabella Monroe was the kind of woman men chased, a beauty wrapped in an aura of prestige.

He had assumed she was already well-versed in the art of seduction, but last night had revealed something unexpected.

Gently, Thomas slid his arm free and slipped out of bed, heading into the bathroom.

The shower's warm water cascaded over him, washing away the last traces of sleep.

Stepping out, he caught his reflection in the mirror, already dressed in a tailored suit handpicked by his assistant, Andrew.

"Damn. Looking good."

Clothes didn't just cover a man—they defined him.

And today, Thomas Blackwell wasn't just some unknown entrepreneur. He was a man of power, wealth, and influence.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he spared one last glance at Isabella, still sound asleep.

Without waking her, he picked up his phone, typed a short message, and sent it.

A moment later, he transferred a million dollars to her account.

She had never asked for money, never implied she expected anything.

But Thomas understood the game.

This wasn't about payment—it was about acknowledgment.

And a million dollars? For him, it was nothing more than pocket change.

---

Leaving the Hotel

As Thomas exited the suite, Andrew, his personal assistant, was already waiting outside.

"Mr. Blackwell, do you require a car?"

Most luxury hotels didn't provide private cars on demand, but Thomas wasn't just any guest.

He had spent nearly a million dollars on his stay alone—service like this was a given.

Thomas nodded. "Yes. I've got a lot to do today."

Andrew offered a polite smile. "Understood, sir. I'll have one arranged immediately."

With that, Thomas stepped into the private elevator reserved for the presidential suite.

Unlike regular floors, this elevator was exclusive. No waiting, no interruptions.

A single press of the button, and the doors slid open.

"Have a great day, Mr. Blackwell," Andrew said with a slight bow.

Thomas gave a nod and stepped inside.

Moments later, he arrived in the grand hotel lobby.

The morning crowd was busier than the night before—guests checking in and out, people seated in the lounge, some engaged in quiet conversations.

But as soon as Thomas appeared, the atmosphere shifted.

Several female receptionists immediately stood up, bowing slightly as they greeted him in unison.

"Good morning, Mr. Blackwell."

It wasn't standard practice for hotel staff to acknowledge guests with such reverence.

But Thomas wasn't just another guest—he was a man who commanded attention.

And the murmurs began almost instantly.

Who was this man?

What kind of presence could make seasoned hotel staff stand at attention?

Thomas simply offered a polite nod in return.

At that moment, one of the receptionists quickly approached.

"Mr. Blackwell, your car is ready."

"Good."

As Thomas stepped outside, a sleek, black stretch Lincoln was parked at the entrance.

Beside it stood a tall, blond man in his forties, dressed in a perfectly tailored chauffeur's uniform.

"Interesting. They even assigned a foreign driver. Trying to elevate their prestige, I see…"

A slight smirk played on Thomas's lips as he approached.

The chauffeur gave a respectful nod, placing his right hand across his chest and bowing slightly.

"Good morning, Mr. Blackwell. I'm your driver for the day. You can call me Jack."

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Jack's English was flawless—accent perfect, tone professional.

Even more surprising, his demeanor suggested familiarity with the city.

"This guy's been here for years…"

With a knowing look, Thomas simply nodded.

Jack, ever the professional, immediately opened the rear door, placing one hand above the frame to ensure Thomas wouldn't hit his head while entering.

Once Thomas was inside, Jack closed the door gently, then jogged to the driver's seat and started the engine.

"Where to, sir?" Jack asked.

Thomas thought for a moment.

"No fixed destination. Take me to some of the newest developments in the city."

Jack gave a knowing nod. "Understood, Mr. Blackwell."

With that, the luxury car smoothly pulled away from the hotel entrance.

Thomas had one goal today: to spend money and expand his influence.

And what better way than by buying entire buildings?

This was just the beginning.

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