Go Away,My Stepbrother

Oprah’s POV:

My heart raced as I stormed into my apartment, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

How could someone invade my privacy like this?

With trembling hands, I crumpled the offensive note into a ball, my cheeks burning with anger as I tossed it into the trash along with the dress.

The mere sight of that gossamer-like fabric, so revealing and suggestive, filled me with a sense of violation. It was the ninth anonymous package I had received in the past three months, each one more perplexing than the last. What had started as innocent gifts—a bouquet of Juliet roses, exquisite pastries, and elegant jewelry—had spiraled into something far more sinister.

My boyfriend—ex, Avery—his betrayal still stung. His misunderstanding drove a wedge between us that seemed impossible to mend. How could he accuse me of such things, simply because of these enigmatic packages?

I want to see you in this dress, then take it off with my hands, and kiss every inch of your body.

"You scoundrel! If I catch you, you'll regret it!" I muttered under my breath, fury coursing through my veins as I crumpled the note. But my anger only intensified when, less than half a minute later, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

"Why did you discard the dress?"

The message sent a chill down my spine, astonishment washing over me in waves. How did they know? Who was behind this twisted game, toying with my emotions and invading my privacy?

"How did you know? Who are you? And why have you been sending me all these peculiar things?" I typed out, my fingers trembling with rage and uncertainty. But the reply I received was cryptic, devoid of any real explanation.

"I guessed."

I stared at the phone in my hand, disappointment gnawing at my insides like a relentless hunger. The words taunted me, leaving me no closer to uncovering the truth. My mind raced with questions, each one more bewildering than the last.

How could they have known about me disposing of the dress? Were they watching me, spying on my every move? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, filling me with a sense of paranoia I couldn't shake. Or was this some sick joke, orchestrated by someone with a twisted sense of humor?

I glanced at the dress lying discarded in the trash, a tangible reminder of the intrusion into my life.

Without hesitation, I dialed the unfamiliar number, determined to uncover the identity of the perpetrator fueling my actions. But as the phone rang unanswered for the third time, a sense of defeat washed over me. Reluctantly, I gave up for the time being, my mind racing with unanswered questions and fears.

I sat alone in my rented house, the silence weighing heavily upon me, my thoughts drifted to my family.

The memory of Burgess's smug and aloof demeanor flooded my mind, his thinly veiled contempt for me etched into my memory like a scar. I could still hear his arrogant remark from five years ago, his words cutting through me like a knife. The pain of being treated as an outsider in my own family still lingered, a constant reminder of the divide between us.

All of a sudden, my phone rang. I didn’t want to pick it up but I had to.

“Hello, Oprah? You better come and have dinner with us!” As my mother's voice came through the phone, pleading for me to come home and have dinner with them, I felt a surge of frustration rising within me.

"Mom, I'm busy with work and don't have time for that," I replied, trying to keep the anger out of my voice.

But my mother's disappointment was palpable, a tinge of sadness seeping through her words. "Can't you come home just for a meal and talk to your brother, even if you're busy?" she implored.

I responded with indifference, the bitterness creeping into my tone. "Mom, that's your home, not mine. Unlike you, I don't have a brother like Burgess who looks down on me. Besides, we both know we don't get along."

The memory of Burgess's cruel actions from five years ago flashed before my eyes, the humiliation still fresh in my mind. The image of him forcing me to kneel in front of everyone, demanding apologies, was etched into my memory like a scar, destined to haunt me for the rest of my life.

But despite my rejection, my mother's persistence never wavered. She called me three times a day, like clockwork, her reminders more punctual than mealtimes. And ultimately, I found myself relenting, agreeing to go back home on the weekend.

To ensure I didn't back out at the last minute, mother personally drove to pick me up in front of my office building on Friday night. I had no choice but to accompany her back to the Harrison household, my resentment simmering just beneath the surface.

As the car made its way towards the grand estate, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping over me. The thought of facing my past, of confronting Burgess and the painful memories that lay buried within those walls, filled me with an overwhelming sense of unease.

The Harrison family was the epitome of wealth and power, their sprawling estate a testament to their immense prosperity. But behind the facade of opulence lay a tangled web of secrets and unresolved conflicts, each one more daunting than the last.

As we entered the grand estate, I couldn't bring myself to admire the beauty of the property. Instead, I felt a knot forming in the pit of my stomach, a sense of foreboding settling over me like a dark cloud.

It was time to face my past once again, to confront the demons that haunted me and find the strength to move forward, no matter how daunting the journey ahead.

Every time I stepped foot into the Harrison house, I couldn't shake off the overwhelming sense of displacement that washed over me. It was as if the very walls of the manor were silently mocking my mother's modest background and vanity, reminding us of our place in this world.

As mother led the way into the living room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping over me. Burgess was already there, lounging on the sofa with an air of aloofness that seemed to define him. His slender fingers tapped away rhythmically on his laptop, his attention seemingly elsewhere.