On the thick Persian carpet of the hallway, Ellie stood motionless.

Her stiletto heels sank into the expensive wool beneath her feet.

She did not move.

From the men's restroom at the far end of the hall, Bryan Roth emerged, wiping his hands on a linen towel.

He tossed the towel onto a side table and turned his head.

His gaze locked onto Ellie, a cruel smile stretching across his face as he saw her standing in the shadows.

He walked toward her, his footsteps completely silent on the thick carpet.

From inside the room, Ansel's voice drifted through the crack in the door.

"This is just a limited-time engagement."

Bryan stopped exactly one step away from Ellie.

He lifted an arm, pressing his elbow against the wall to trap her between his body and the doorframe.

He leaned his head down, staring at her face.

He waited for the tears, for her shoulders to shake.

A single flutter of her eyelashes was the only sign of life.

Her chest rose and fell at the exact same slow, measured pace as before.

Her mind processed Ansel's words like a machine sorting data: the expected outcome of a social experiment.

Bryan frowned when no tears came.

He leaned closer, his breath smelling of stale smoke and mints.

He made a loud, mocking clicking sound with his tongue.

"Game's over, Brooklyn," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Time to crawl back to whatever bridge you came from."

Ellie turned her head slowly.

Her clear brown eyes were completely dry.

There was no anger in her expression, only a clinical, almost pitying calmness.

She let her eyes drag up and down his flashy, overly tailored suit.

The clinical pity in her stare was a physical slap to his ego.

His face flushed red.

He stepped even closer, trying to use his height to intimidate her.

"Isela is the only woman the Schultz family will ever accept. You need to pack your cheap bags and get out."

Ellie took a smooth half-step backward.

Her movement was fluid, the graceful sidestep of someone avoiding a puddle of dirty water.

Her voice was perfectly even when she spoke.

"Are you in such a rush to clear the path for Isela because you are secretly in love with her, Bryan?"

She tilted her head slightly.

"Or is it just because you know you will never be good enough for her?"

Bryan's breath hitched in his throat.

The veins in his neck bulged against his collar.

He raised his hand, reaching out to grab her bare shoulder.

Ellie did not flinch.

She lifted her Prada clutch, holding it flat against her chest.

As his hand came down, she angled the hard, metal corner of the bag directly into his path.

Bryan's knuckles slammed into the metal.

He yanked his arm back with a sharp hiss of pain.

"You bitch," he muttered, dropping all pretense of high-society manners.

The laughter inside the VIP room began to die down.

Footsteps moved closer to the door.

Bryan rubbed his bruised knuckles.

"If you run out of here crying right now, you will be the joke of New York by morning."

Ellie looked down at her dress.

With her free hand, she smoothed out a wrinkle that did not exist.

She lifted her chin and looked Bryan directly in the eyes.

A perfect, polite smile formed on her lips.

"An anthropologist doesn't cry," she said, her voice a silken blade, "when the monkeys in the enclosure throw mud at her."

Bryan's mouth fell open.

His brain short-circuited trying to process the insult.

He opened his mouth to yell.

Ellie did not give him the chance.

She turned her back to him completely.

She faced the heavy mahogany door.

She did not run toward the elevator.

She did not hide in the bathroom to cry.

Lifting her bare arm, she pressed her palm flat against the cold brass handle.

Without a single second of hesitation, Ellie pushed the door wide open and stepped into the room.

A groan from the heavy brass hinges of the mahogany door cut through the room, making the jazz music feel like it skipped a beat.

Every man in the VIP room stopped talking at the exact same time.

Four pairs of eyes snapped toward the entrance.

Framed in the doorway, the hall light spilling over her shoulders, Ellie was a flawless porcelain figure, completely untouched by the heavy atmosphere of the room.

She stepped inside, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood border of the carpet.

Ansel was slumped low on the sofa.

At the sight of her, Ansel's entire body went rigid.

His pupils dilated so fast the blue of his eyes almost vanished.

His hand shot out on instinct, grabbing his phone off the table.

His grip on the metal casing was so tight his joints popped in the sudden quiet.

Jax took a sip of his bourbon and inhaled sharply.

The liquor caught in his throat, and he started coughing violently.

Ellie ignored Jax.

She kept her eyes locked on Ansel and walked straight toward the leather sofa.

Right behind her, Bryan rushed in, a sick, excited grin on his face as he anticipated the explosion.

Sterling shifted his weight, sliding further back into his armchair as if trying to escape the blast zone.

Ellie stopped right in front of Ansel's knees.

She looked down at him.

For the first time, she saw it: raw panic bleeding through the arrogant mask on his face.

Ansel's Adam's apple bobbed hard.

He opened his mouth, his brain scrambling for a smooth lie to cover his tracks.

"Ellie, I-"

"I am so sorry to interrupt your boys' night," Ellie said.

Her voice was soft, sweet, and perfectly measured.

Bryan stepped forward, unable to keep his mouth shut.

"Did you hear something you shouldn't have out in the hall, Ellie?"

Ansel's head snapped toward Bryan.

His eyes were lethal, silently promising violence if Bryan spoke another word.

But it was too late.

Ellie turned her head and met Bryan's malicious stare.

"I did," she confirmed, offering him a polite nod. "I heard the pitch for the... limited-time engagement."

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Ansel stopped breathing entirely.

It felt like a giant hand had reached into his chest and crushed his lungs.

Bryan crossed his arms, waiting for the screaming and the tears.

Ellie simply reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"It is a very creative metaphor," she said lightly.

She turned her attention back to Ansel.

"When the performance ends," she asked, her eyes wide and innocent, "do you think that recommendation letter could get me an interview at Goldman Sachs? The investment banking division, specifically."

The room went dead silent.

Sterling's jaw dropped, his unlit cigar slipping from his fingers to land on the rug. Jax, who had been leaning against the bar, slowly lowered his glass, a look of utter disbelief freezing on his face.

Bryan's grin froze.

He stared at Ellie like she was an alien.

He couldn't comprehend it: a girl with no trust fund, negotiating a job reference instead of begging for love.

Ansel stared up at her.

He searched her clear, calm eyes for any sign of a crack.

He looked for a trembling lip or a forced smile.

He found absolutely nothing.

In that exact second, a cold, terrifying wave of panic crashed over him as he realized he had never held the reins.

Logic evaporated, replaced by a primal need to break her calm, to force a reaction.

Ansel lunged forward.

He grabbed her thin wrist with a bruising grip.

He pulled her hard, dragging her forward until she lost her balance.

Ellie fell right into his lap.

She did not fight him.

She let her body settle against his hard thighs, even lifting her arms to wrap them loosely around the back of his neck.

Ansel buried his face into the side of her neck.

He bit down gently on her earlobe, his breath hot and ragged against her skin.

"What kind of game are you playing?" he whispered, his voice shaking with anger and fear.

Ellie rested her cheek against his temple.

"I am fulfilling my duty as your zero-maintenance girlfriend," she whispered back.

The logic of her words felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

Ansel could not take another word from her mouth.

He grabbed the back of her head, twisted his body, and smashed his lips against hers in a desperate, punishing kiss.

It was the kiss of a drowning man, trying to pull the air straight from her lungs.

His hand was tangled in her hair, holding her head in place.

When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving.

He stared at her lips, waiting for a reaction.

Though her lipstick was smeared at the corner of her mouth, her eyes were as clear and steady as a frozen lake.

She placed her hands flat against his chest and pushed herself up.

She stood up slowly, smoothing the front of her silk dress.

With a casual flick of her thumb, she wiped the smeared lipstick from her skin.

She picked up her Prada clutch from the edge of the table.

She looked around the room, offering a polite smile to the stunned men.

"I have an early seminar tomorrow. I need to get home. Have a good night, gentlemen."

A tremor ran through Ansel's leg muscles.

His body wanted to stand up, to follow her, to beg her to stay.

Digging his nails into his own palms, he forced himself to remain seated.

He looked at Jax, his face a mask of cold stone.

"Tell the valet to bring the car around for her."

Ellie did not look back at him.

She turned and walked out the door, her heels clicking softly until she disappeared down the hall.

The heavy door clicked shut behind her.

The air in the room instantly felt ten degrees colder.

Bryan let out a nervous, loud laugh.

"Wow. You really have her trained well, Ansel. She didn't even shed a tear."

Ansel did not look at him.

He reached up and slowly unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

He needed air.

He picked up his half-empty glass of bourbon from the table.

Without a word, he flicked his wrist.

Ice and dark liquor arced through the air, splashing directly onto Bryan's custom leather shoes.

Bryan jumped back, letting out a high-pitched yelp.

"What the hell, man?" Bryan yelled, looking down at the mess.

Ansel stood up.

His six-foot-two frame towered over the table.

He did not say a single word.

He walked past Sterling and Jax, his boots hitting the floor with heavy, menacing thuds.

He walked out of the VIP room.

Bryan's face burned red with humiliation.

He wiped his shoes with a napkin and stormed out into the hallway after Ansel.

"You can't just do that and walk away!" Bryan shouted to Ansel's back.

The hallway was empty.

The dim wall sconces cast long shadows across the carpet.

Bryan took three fast steps, reaching his hand out to grab Ansel's shoulder.

Ansel spun around faster than Bryan could blink.

Ansel's hand shot out and grabbed the knot of Bryan's silk tie.

With a violent shove, he slammed Bryan backward, his knuckles scraping brutally against the rough molding of the wall. He didn't even flinch as the skin tore.

Bryan's back hit the wood-paneled wall with a sickening thud.

The breath was knocked out of Bryan's lungs.

His feet dangled an inch off the ground.

Ansel pressed his forearm directly against Bryan's windpipe.

Gone was the lazy, arrogant playboy mask.

In its place was pure, unhinged rage, turning his eyes black.

He leaned in until his nose was inches from Bryan's face.

"Even if she is just a convenience to me," Ansel whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal intent.

"She is still mine."

Ansel pressed his forearm harder against the throat.

Bryan's face started to turn a dark shade of purple.

"If you ever speak to her again, or even look in her direction, I will personally see to it that your father's hedge fund is liquidated by Friday."

Bryan's eyes bulged with terror.

He clawed frantically at Ansel's arm, making a wet, choking sound in the back of his throat.

The VIP room door opened.

Sterling stepped out and froze, his eyes wide as he took in the violent scene.

Ansel felt Sterling's presence.

He looked at Bryan with absolute disgust and opened his hand.

Bryan collapsed onto the carpet like a broken doll, gasping loudly for air.

Ansel reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a crisp white handkerchief.

He wiped his fingers with the handkerchief as if he had just touched raw sewage.

He dropped the dirty cloth directly onto Bryan's face.

Ansel adjusted the bottom of his suit jacket and walked toward the private elevator without looking back.