Page 36 of The Bratva's Prisoner Bride

She nodded her understanding and moved to the sink to rinse her sponge. "I can't blame you."

Letting go of another breath, I paused my drawing to look up at her again. "By the way, why and how did you get this job in the first place?"

"I went to college as an English major with a minor in psychology about a decade ago, and it turns out it wasn't a very easy degree to flex while job hunting. So, I had to look elsewhere so I could pay off my student loans," she answered honestly, pausing from her work to lean against the kitchen island. "Honestly, it was a bit of a fluke that I even got this job. My grandma knew someone who heard about a position that sounded a bit too good to be true, but since I was desperate, I took the chance, and here I am."

I took in her words carefully and nodded. "So you didn't exactly set out to be a housekeeper."

She chuckled and continued wiping the counters down. "No, not exactly. But I'm not complaining."

Her life seemed pretty simple for the most part, but something about how she worked for herself and did what she needed to do seemed admirable to me. In a way, I envied her for that.

I never had the chance to make something for myself...something of my own.

"Stop distracting the staff," Ivan said as he entered the room and looked at me pointedly before glancing down at his phone. "Find something better to do."

That tone of his, telling me to busy myself despite not allowing me to do exactly that in the ways I wanted to, grated against my nerves, and I immediately bristled.

"'Something better'...like what?" I questioned sharply.

He sighed and met my gaze. "Something...anything. Surely, you can find something in this house to keep yourself preoccupied with."

That only made my irritation burn hotter.

There were only so many books I could read, movies I could watch, and monitored walks in the backyard I could take.

Without personal belongings or anything that reflected my interests, it didn't feel like my home. Rooting through things that weren't mine in hopes of finding some kind of entertainment only took me so far.

"That's easy for you to say...you get to leave this house."

Ivan narrowed his eyes at me, clearly not in the mood. "You're telling me that living here is that painful? Having everything you need and then some is like torture to you?"

While our mutual frustration mounted, Veronica took it upon herself to break away from the kitchen and saw herself out.

I couldn't pay it too much mind while Ivan was in front of me putting words in my mouth. "That isn't what I said."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm trying to tell you that I have nothing to do!"

He clenched his jaw, then sighed and shook his head. "I don't have time to deal with your attitude or your whims...figure something out."

My anger flared even more when he turned away from me dismissively and left the room entirely without another word.

He wasn't hearing me. Regardless of how simply I spoke, he was choosing to ignore what I was trying to say.

It only made everything so much more confusing for me to process.

Frustrated and needing some way to get it out, I grabbed the notepad, muttered under my breath, and scribbled another drawing down.

Soon enough, the caricature began to form, taking shape as it looked more and more like Ivan.

Despite knowing it was childish, I stroked a hard line through it, then got up and left the room, still fuming.

It was safer than rampaging in the kitchen, at least.

Chapter 15 - Ivan

Doubting myself was something I didn't do often, but on the rare occasion it happened, I despised every moment of it.

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