Chapter 3

My cheeks burned with humiliation as I caught a glimpse of Burgess looking at me with an inscrutable expression. Despite being involved in the altercation, he distanced himself completely, as if the entire situation were beneath him.

In his eyes, I must have looked ridiculous in my current state. The thought filled me with a surge of anger and resentment, but I refused to show any sign of weakness in front of him.

With a sneer, I turned to face Burgess, a taunting smile playing at my lips. I then directed my attention to mother, making a zipping motion across my lips to indicate that I would keep quiet. Without another word, I turned on my heel and made my way out of the estate, my departure decisive and unwavering.

Outside, the rain poured down mercilessly, the wind lashing at me with unrelenting force. Despite the biting cold, I welcomed the discomfort, preferring to freeze to death than endure another moment of humiliation in the Harrison household.

The road stretched before me, the urban area seemingly miles away. With no subway or bus in sight, and the ride-hailing app canceling all orders due to the heavy rain, I found myself stranded.

Clutching my phone tightly, I sought shelter under a nearby tree, contemplating whether to wait out the storm or brave the rain and continue on foot. The night grew darker and more ominous, the sky shrouded in thick clouds.

As I stood there, stomping my feet in an attempt to ward off the chill, a car pulled up beside me. The driver emerged, holding an umbrella, and approached me with a tentative smile.

"Miss Oprah, he asked me to take you home," he said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the rain.

I took a few steps back, eyeing him warily. "I don't know him," I replied, my voice tinged with suspicion. After all, in a situation like this, trust was a luxury I couldn't afford.

As I stood there, drenched in the relentless downpour, a sense of unease gnawed at the pit of my stomach. Deep down, I knew he was the one who had been anonymously sending me those packages. But how did he know I was here? Did he have someone constantly following me?

My suspicions only grew when the driver made a phone call, informing someone, “"Sir, Miss Oprah doesn't trust me and doesn't want to get in the car." It felt like a subtle threat, a reminder of his power and influence over me.

When the driver hung up, I received a message from him. "Get in the car. No one will harm you."

Surprisingly, his text provided a small semblance of comfort. Yet, I couldn't shake off the feeling of apprehension that gripped me.

Despite my reservations, the rain continued to pour down relentlessly, each drop feeling like a heavy weight upon my shoulders. And when a bolt of lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the darkness with its fiery glow, I knew I had to make a decision.

With a sigh, I finally relented and got into the car, the leather seats cold against my soaked clothes. Inside the confines of the vehicle, I couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability, as if I were at the mercy of forces beyond my control.

Desperate for answers, I turned to the driver, hoping to glean some insight into the mysterious man who had orchestrated this entire ordeal.

"You must know who he is, don't you?" I pressed, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and frustration.

But the driver remained tight-lipped, refusing to divulge any information. "Miss Oprah, please don't make it difficult for me. I've never met him either," he replied, his tone cautious yet firm.

With no other recourse, I resigned myself to silence, the questions swirling in my mind left unanswered. Who was he, and why was he harassing me? What did he want from me?

As the car sped through the rain-soaked streets, I couldn't help but ponder the motives behind his actions. What kind of man relentlessly pursued a woman like me, despite his apparent wealth and status?

The answers eluded me, shrouded in mystery like the stormy night outside. And as we continued on our journey, I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered in the air, a dark cloud hovering over me like a harbinger of impending doom.

***

I finally arrived back at my rented room, the exhaustion weighing heavily upon me. Without bothering to change out of my soaked clothes, I collapsed onto the sofa, feeling utterly drained.

Reaching for my phone, I checked for any new messages, but apart from the unsettling message from him, there was nothing. Not even a single message or call from mother to check on me. It was a bitter reminder of how little she cared for her own daughter.

But what was even more absurd was that a stranger had been the one to safely escort me back from the rainy night. It was a stark contrast to the indifference shown by my own family.

After a hasty shower, I crawled into bed, hoping to escape into sleep and forget the events of the day. But my respite was short-lived, as a high fever gripped me in the middle of the night, leaving me delirious and disoriented.

I fumbled for some fever-reducing pills, swallowing them down until the fever subsided in the early hours of the morning. Exhausted and weak, I decided to take a day off from work and retreated back to bed.

In the midst of my groggy slumber, the sound of the apartment bell jolted me awake. I stumbled to the door, expecting to see mother on the other side. Instead, I was met with the sight of Burgess standing there, his presence sending a shiver down my spine.

Ignoring him, I retreated back to bed, hoping he would take the hint and leave me alone. But to my dismay, I heard the door open and his footsteps drawing closer.

Pretending to be asleep, I peeked out from under the blanket and saw Burgess standing by the bed, holding a key in his hand. His usual cold and arrogant demeanor sent a wave of irritation coursing through me.

"Did my mom give you the key?" I snapped, glaring at him.

"She was worried about you and asked me to come and check on you," he replied coolly.

I scoffed inwardly, incredulous at my mother's sudden concern for my well-being. If she truly cared, why hadn't she bothered to call me herself?

Well, now that you've seen me, please leave,” I said coldly, urging him to leave. But he remained stubbornly by my side, his gaze lingering on my pale face.

Burgess stared at my face, seeming unbothered at what I just said and asked me, "Are you feeling unwell?"

"It's none of your business," I retorted sharply when he inquired about my health.

"Why do you speak to me like this?" he countered, his tone icy.

Frustration bubbled up within me at his persistent presence. "How should I speak then? Why don't you teach me, Mr. Harrison?" I shot back, unable to contain my irritation.

His face hardened at my words, an oppressive aura enveloping him. Sensing his reluctance to leave, I couldn't help but provoke him further. "Why aren't you leaving? Are you reluctant to leave your stepsister here alone?" I taunted, hoping to drive him away.

But instead of backing down, Burgess suddenly reached out and grabbed my chin, his touch sending a shiver down my spine.

“Shut up,” he breathed out.