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CHAPTER FIVE

Fucking Ragnar.

Imagine what that bastard man reduced her too? A fucking cleaner.

Every moment of the three days she's been here have been nothing but hell.

She missed every bit of her previous life—her father, her people and the thrill from smoking a blunt.

She hadn't had a good smoke in three days.

Three whole days.

She wondered how she was able to stay this long without losing her shit.

Or maybe it was because she had already lost her shit—Ragnar was driving her fucking insane.

She paused, realizing that she got too carried away with her anger and was scrubbing the top of the tables way too hard.

She had already started to bruise herself.

She tossed the damn rag aside and let out a frustrated groan. Hate was an understatement for what she felt towards Ragnar and what her life had been reduced to.

But as much as she hated to say it and admit it, she had no choice.

She sighed, picking up the cleaning rag and proceeding to go over to the bedside tables.

She began to wipe them
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