Chapter 4

Pain shot through me as Burgess's grip tightened on my chin. "What are you doing... Mmm!" I protested, my voice muffled as he silenced me with a forceful kiss.

At that moment, my mind went blank, and I was too stunned to push him away. Burgess's kiss was aggressive and dominating, leaving my lips bruised and bleeding when he finally pulled back.

Gasping for air, I glared at him, my cheeks flushed with anger. "You're insane!" I spat, unable to contain my outrage.

But Burgess merely rubbed his thumb against my reddened lips, his expression unreadable. "I'll do it if you dare to provoke me again," he warned, his tone sending a chill down my spine.

Furious but intimidated by his ominous gaze, I remained silent as he turned to leave, his satisfaction evident in the smirk on his face.

As he reached the doorway, Burgess tossed a final threat over his shoulder. "By the way, my father's turning fifty the day after tomorrow, and he wants to host a family banquet. You better not be absent, or else."

I seethed with anger at his audacity, knowing full well the consequences if I defied him. He was such a bastard!

Once he was gone, I grabbed a pillow and pounded it in frustration, imagining it was Burgess's smug face. But my anger only simmered beneath the surface, my fingertips trembling with rage.

Just when I thought the ordeal was over, the doorbell rang again, jolting me from my thoughts.

My heart raced as I swung the door open, expecting to face Burgess once again. But to my surprise, it wasn't him standing outside.

Without even bothering to glance up, I muttered, "Burgess, what else do you want?"

But the figure before me wasn't Burgess. Confusion creased my brow as I looked at the stranger in the white coat. "Who are you?" I asked, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Miss Oprah, I am his personal doctor," the gentleman replied, his smile gentle and reassuring. "You caught a cold after getting soaked in the rain last night. He is worried about you, so he asked me to come and check on you."

I was left speechless. How did he know about my condition? It felt like he could always anticipate my every move, and the sensation left me uneasy, unsure if I felt resentment or just plain strangeness.

Attempting to brush off the discomfort, I replied lightly, "It's alright. I'm fine."

But before I could close the door, the doctor raised his hand to stop me, his tone half-joking but laced with an underlying seriousness. "Miss Oprah, I have a family to support and bills to pay. If I get fired by him, my whole family will go hungry next month."

A subtle threat again?

I couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety. But I couldn't risk being the cause of someone else's hardship. With a resigned sigh, I relented. "Fine," I conceded, feeling a sense of defeat wash over me.

***

"Miss Oprah, your fever has just gone down, so you must rest and drink plenty of water. Remember not to eat greasy and spicy food,” the doctor's careful advice lingered in my mind as he departed, leaving me alone on the sofa. Illness had a way of making one feel vulnerable, and in that moment, the apartment seemed empty and cold, amplifying my sense of loneliness and helplessness.

It was unsettling to realize that when I needed help and care, it was a stranger who silently extended his concern. A bitter smile tugged at my lips as I pondered the irony of the situation, feeling a wave of sadness wash over me.

Lost in thought, I suddenly felt liquid trickling from my nose. When I touched it, my fingertips came away slick with blood. Frowning, I made my way to the bathroom to clean up, dismissing it as a mere nosebleed caused by internal heat.

However, as I composed myself, a thought occurred to me, and I swiftly sent a message to him.

"Sir, thank you for your concern. But please don't send me things anymore or help me this way. It makes me feel bothered."

Almost immediately, I second-guessed myself and sent another message, "Perhaps we can meet and chat like friends."

His response was swift, but it only served to stoke the flames of my anger.

"Not possible," he replied curtly.

"Why is it not possible?" I demanded, my frustration mounting.

"Because I don't want to be your friend. I only want to be your man, to have you completely under my control and make your body bear only my scent."

He was a pervert, indeed!

Any shred of goodwill I had harbored towards him vanished in an instant, replaced by a burning desire to expose him for the pervert he truly was.

More of his messages continued to flood my screen.

"Why aren't you replying to me?"

"Are you feeling shy?"

"I imagine how cute and charming you must look when you're shy. If you could wear the dress I bought for you, you would be even more enchanting."

"Will you wear that dress and take a picture for me? Last night, I came five times just thinking about you."

Gasping in disbelief, I added his phone number to the blacklist, unable to suppress the word that escaped my lips.

“Pervert!”

The day of Old Mr. Harrison's fiftieth birthday arrived before I could blink, and with it came an obligation I had no desire to fulfill.

As the titular stepdaughter of Old Mr. Harrison, I was expected to attend the family feast at the estate, despite my complete lack of enthusiasm for the event. Burgess's veiled threat ensured my compliance, leaving me with no choice but to begrudgingly make my appearance.

As I entered the Harrison house, a reluctant sigh escaped my lips, only to be interrupted by a soft voice calling out my name, "Oprah."

Turning towards the source of the voice, I found myself face to face with a familiar figure. It took me a moment to register who she was, but when recognition finally dawned on me, I felt a surge of conflicting emotions.

Standing before me was Zoey Nicholas, my former best friend. It had been three long years since we last saw each other, and in that time, our once close bond had faded into distant memory.

Zoey reached out, her hand extended in a gesture of affection that I found difficult to reciprocate. "Oprah, it's been so long. I've missed you. Why haven't you contacted me?"