Page 31 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

I know exactly what to do to annoy the hell out of her. She is a pampered princess who is used to servants waiting on her hand and foot. I will take that away and watch her squirm. I bet she has no idea how to take care of herself without several maids helping her.

I instruct Penny and the chef to stop doing anything for her, and then spend the next few days waiting to enjoy the show.

But when I get home from work one evening, I smell the most amazing scents coming from the kitchen. I storm in there, ready to yell at the chef for cooking for her, only to find that it’s Sasha in the kitchen.

She is wearing one of the cleaning staff's aprons, the dishes are all done, and she is leaning over the oven to pull out an entire pork roast.

“Where’s Bentley?” I demand, knowing that the chef must have helped her with this.

“I haven’t seen him in a few days,” she replies. “I haven’t seen Penny either.”

“Who made this?” I say, staring down at the crispy, perfectly done roast while she cuts it into thin slices.

“Your fairy godmother, obviously.” She throws me a sarcastic look.

Once the meat is cut, she turns to the sink to wash the knife, then picks up a towel and starts putting away the dishes she’s cleaned up.

“Um. We have a dishwasher,” I say, feeling confused.

“I know, but it seemed a waste to put it on when there were so few dishes to wash, so I just did it by hand.”

I stand in the middle of the kitchen like a lost fart trying to figure out why my plan isn’t working. The pampered little princess seems to be able to hold her own just fine.

“You can go sit down. I’ve already put the veggies on the table, and they’ll start getting cold soon.”

Unsatisfied, I turn sharply and walk out of the kitchen to the dining room. She follows me, carrying the carved-up roast.

I dish up without saying a word and eat in silence.

The food is incredible. Who the hell taught this spoiled brat how to cook?

After dinner, she clears the plates and packs them in the dishwasher.

I go through to the bar to pour myself a drink, but none of the alcohol is there.

Confusion hits me again.

“Where’s my whiskey?” I say out loud.

“Must be the fairies again. Cheeky little shits, aren’t they?”

Her casual remark lets me know that she’s obviously hidden it. I can’t believe this girl. She’s hitting back just as hard as I am handing it out. I wasn’t expecting that at all.

Sasha disappears, obviously having taken herself to bed early.

I sit sulking without my evening whiskey. I wait until I am sure she’s fallen asleep so I don’t have to deal with her, then head up to my bedroom as well.

But the fucking door is locked.

I bang loudly.

“Sasha, open this door immediately,” I yell through the wood.

Every single night since she got here, she has found a way to lock me out of my own room. I haven’t slept one night in my own bed, while she enjoys the luxury of my Egyptian cotton sheets on her own.

But no matter how much noise I make, she doesn’t respond, so in a foul mood I head to her old bedroom and flop down onto her bed.

In the morning, I wake up still grumpy.

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