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Over the next few weeks, I start to put my plan in motion. I go out of my way to disrupt Sasha’s peace and quiet and make her life as difficult as possible. My plan was to torture her and make her life miserable, so that is what I try to do.

The first thing I take enjoyment from, seeing as she has tried to escape a few times, is to leave the house and make it seem like I’ve left an easy getaway for her.

Of course she jumps at the opportunity and makes a run for it, only to find me waiting for her at the last moment. The look of disappointment in her eyes is really satisfying.

After the third time of playing that trick on her, she catches on.

I pretend to leave the house one morning but wait just outside the front door. I hear her coming down the stairs, making her way towards the exit. Her footsteps stop just short of the doorway, though, and I hold my breath, waiting for her to bolt through it so that I can grab her.

But she doesn’t.

After what seems like far too long, I decide something must have changed and peek around the door.

As I do, she throws a cup full of water in my face.

“Oops. So sorry. I thought you had left.” She smirks as I stand dripping wet in the doorway.

“Are you kidding?” I snap.

“Not at all. I thought you had left, and someone was trying to break in,” she says innocently.

“And you threw water at an intruder?”

“Yep.” She shrugs. “It’s all about the element of surprise. Were you surprised?”

I hardly know what to say. No one has ever thrown water in my face before. I snarl and push past her to go and change. But when I get to my bedroom door, I find it locked.

What the fuck is going on.

I march back downstairs in my wet shirt.

“Sasha. Why is my bedroom door locked?”

“I have no idea. Did you try wiggling the handle?” she asks.

“Did I wiggle—what the fuck?”

She grins and turns her attention back to her magazine.

I march to my office, where I know I have a spare shirt hanging up and get changed in there. I need to try something different now that she’s caught onto the escape sabotage routine.

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.

I head to the kitchen to make coffee. Sasha is there already in her pajama shorts and a crop top. My eyes wander over her body until she turns around to look at me. I quickly avert my gaze.

“Did you sleep well?”

“If you lock me out again, I swear I will remove the door.”

“Lock you out? Why would I do that?” I can’t believe how fucking innocent she makes herself sound.

“I’m warning you, Sasha,” I say, stepping very close to her and glaring down at her.

She calmly sips her freshly-made coffee.

“Noted,” she says sweetly, not seeming to notice the heated tension between us.

My body is responding to her minimal attire in ways I’d rather not have her see, so I turn away from her to grab a mug out of the cupboard. I am furious that she seems so calm and unaffected by everything that I’ve tried to annoy her with, yet manages to grate at my nerves with her little jabs.

I sigh loudly and turn towards the coffee machine.

Only to find that it isn’t there.

I spin around in a rage.

Sasha has already left the kitchen, carrying her own fresh coffee, so I know she is responsible for this.

“Sasha, where the fuck is my coffee machine?” I shout in frustration.

She pokes her head back through the kitchen door.

“I don’t recall you having a coffee machine. What did it look like?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You are holding a cup of coffee in your hands.”

“What, this? Don’t be silly. This is tea.” She grins.

“I can fucking smell the coffee—"

But she is already walking away, and I bite down on the rest of my words, knowing that I am giving her exactly what she wants—the satisfaction of knowing that she is getting to me.

Fine. I’ll get dressed and go down to the local cafe for breakfast. I march upstairs to get some fresh clothes only to come face-to-face with a locked door again.

That’s it.

I grab my phone and dial Ivan.

“Sir, what can I help you with this morning?”

“I want my bedroom door removed.”

“Removed? Like as in the whole door?”

“Just do it,” I snarl angrily and hang up.

I go through to her old room and put on the same clothes I wore the day before, then leave the house to find a cup of coffee, because I can’t start my day without one.

***

Sitting at a cafe in town, waiting for my order to arrive, I lean back in my chair and run my hands over my face.

Without being able to stop myself I start laughing.

I can’t believe this girl.

She has been ahead of the game from day one.

She is keeping me on my toes in ways I didn’t expect.

The waitress arrives with my coffee.

“You look like you are having a good morning,” she remarks cheerfully.

“Actually, I kind of am,” I say honestly, realizing that I’m kind of enjoying this weird game we are playing.

“Well, that’s good to hear. Your food is almost ready. I’ll bring it out in a little bit.”

I eat my breakfast with pleasant amusement, wandering around in my thoughts.

So far Sasha is not at all who I expected. I keep waiting for the posh and spoiled princess to emerge, but it hasn’t happened. She’s been witty and sharp and actually quite playful with me.

I shake my head.

I wasn’t supposed to enjoy her company.

I’m supposed to be making her life a misery.

Now I am the one who’s had to remove my own bedroom door just so that I can get to my damned clothes and sleep in my own bed.

I shake my head again as I push my empty plate away.

I need to switch tactics. No more fun and games. I’ll think of something else instead.

When I pull up in the driveway at home, the groundskeeper comes walking towards me carrying none other than my coffee machine.

I climb out of the car, looking at him with my brows raised, waiting to hear whatever he has to tell me about this oddity.

“Sir, I’m not sure what to make of it, but I found this in the pool house. I don’t think it belongs there?”

“It doesn’t.” I sigh. “You can put it in the kitchen, please.”

“Sir, how did it get—"

“Just put it in the kitchen. It’s too long to try and explain.”

He shrugs and walks ahead of me into the house, carrying the coffee machine back to its rightful place.

I go straight upstairs and find that Ivan has already managed to remove my bedroom door so I can get inside and have a shower and change into some clean clothes.

Looking out of the bedroom window, I see Sasha lying by the pool, reading.

She looks too content, too at ease.

I’m doing a terrible job of making her life difficult.

But I’ve got something else in mind. I think I am going to take her with me tonight.