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The Billionaire's Limited-Time Romance Novel Cover

The Billionaire's Limited-Time Romance

For three months, I played the part of the perfect girlfriend for billionaire heir Ansel Schultz. I was the obedient, low-maintenance girl from a middle-class zip code, the one who never asked where he was or demanded expensive gifts. Then, standing in the shadows of a hallway, I heard the truth from his own lips. He told his friends I was nothing more than a "convenience," a "pressure valve for his schedule." Our entire relationship was just a "pure romance movie with a time limit," set to end the moment his real fiancée, the heiress Isela Lamb, arrived in New York. One of them cornered me outside the door, hissing in my ear. "The carriage is turning back into a pumpkin, Cinderella. Pack your bags and get out." They were all waiting for the show. They expected me to break down, to run away crying and become the joke of the city. They thought a girl like me would cling to him like a vine, begging for a fairy tale that was never real. But an anthropologist doesn't cry when the monkeys throw mud at her. I pushed open the heavy door, walked straight to his table under the shocked stares of his friends, and looked him in the eye. "I heard the part about the limited-time romance movie," I said with a smile. "When it ends, can you make sure that recommendation letter includes an introduction to the head of Strategic Investment at the Schultz Group? I need an interview for my summer internship."
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Chapter 4

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.

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