Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Despite my efforts to remain composed, I couldn't help but notice how Burgess had changed over the years. Where once he had been sharp and flamboyant, he now exuded a sense of poise and composure that was unnerving.

I begrudgingly acknowledged his charm, understanding why he attracted so many women. But beneath his polished exterior lay a darkness that sent shivers down my spine.

mother's warm greeting was met with Burgess's indifference, his gaze barely flickering in our direction. The way he looked at us reminded me of how he used to gaze at stray animals or even beggars, a mixture of curiosity and disdain that made my skin crawl.

I resisted the urge to flee, forcing myself to stay rooted to the spot as Burgess finally acknowledged my presence. His gaze bore into me, his words dripping with condescension. "Long time no see," he remarked, his tone laced with thinly veiled contempt.

“Yeah,” I offered a casual reply, masking my discomfort behind a facade of indifference. With a sense of relief, I made my escape, retreating upstairs to the safety of my room. Afterall, it was the only place in this house where I could avoid Burgess and his oppressive presence.

As I scrolled through my phone, a new message popped up, causing my heart to skip a beat. "You are magnificent, captivating me from head to toe," it read, sending a shiver down my spine.

I furrowed my eyebrows and retorted, "Contain what?"

"Containing the urge to kiss you, touch you, make love with you, rendering your legs weak and incapable of leaving the bed, causing you to lie in my embrace obediently."

I felt a surge of anger and revulsion coursing through me as I read on, the sender's words dripping with depravity and desire. "You're sick!" I cursed, my fingers trembling as I deleted the message, desperate to rid myself of its toxic influence.

But deep down, I knew that the darkness lurking near me was far from over. And as much as I tried to deny it, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, hunted by someone with a twisted obsession that threatened to consume me whole.

***

As we gathered around the dining table, the tension in the air was palpable. Old Mr. Harrison sat at the head, flanked by mother on his left and Burgess on his right. I found myself seated opposite Burgess, a distance that felt too close for comfort.

I kept my eyes downcast, focusing on my food as mother engaged Burgess in conversation. Her affectionate words and considerate questions only served to highlight the glaring disparity between us. While she doted on Burgess, treating him like her own son, I remained invisible, a mere afterthought in her eyes.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of irony wash over me as I watched them interact. Here was my biological mother, sitting beside me, yet her attention was solely focused on her husband and stepson. It was as if I didn't even exist.

But I refused to let their indifference get to me. I focused on my food, tuning out their conversation as best as I could. mother's reproachful tap on my arm snapped me out of my thoughts, her words like a slap in the face.

"Oprah, stop eating and listen to your brother. He's asking you," she chided, her tone filled with exasperation.

I felt a surge of frustration welling up inside me. What did Burgess want from me? Did he expect me to engage in meaningless small talk, pretending as if everything were fine between us?

With a sense of defiance, I lifted my head to meet Burgess's gaze, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. Without bothering to hide my indifference, I offered a casual reply, masking the turmoil swirling within me.

"Oh," I murmured, before lowering my head to resume eating, showing no interest in whatever Burgess had to say.

The atmosphere at the table grew tense, the silence thickening around us like a heavy fog. I could feel Burgess's gaze burning into me, his scrutiny almost suffocating. But I refused to back down, refusing to let him intimidate me.

As I finished my meal and pushed my plate aside, a faint smile played at my lips. "I'm done. You guys can take your time," I announced, rising from my seat with a sense of liberation. It was time to escape this suffocating atmosphere and reclaim my sense of self.

I was on the verge of standing up and leaving when mother's hand gripped mine firmly, anchoring me to my seat. The smile that had graced her face moments before faded, replaced by a stern expression that sent a chill down my spine.

"Oprah, don't be capricious," she admonished, her tone laced with frustration.

I couldn't help but feel puzzled by her words. "Mom, how am I being capricious?" I questioned, my voice tinged with confusion.

But before she could respond, I pressed on, a faint smile playing at my lips. "Just because I'm not like you, always trying to please them, you think I'm being capricious?" I challenged her, my words dripping with sarcasm. "Do you want me to kneel and beg for their forgiveness like I did before?"

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I had crossed a line. Her face paled, her grip on my hand tightening before she recoiled as if my words had physically wounded her.

"Shut up!" she spat, her voice trembling with anger.

The sting of her slap against my cheek was like a slap in the face, leaving my fair skin burning with humiliation and rage. I could feel the mocking gazes of the servants in the dining room, their silent judgment weighing heavily upon me.

Once again, I had become a joke in the Harrison family, just like that fateful night five years ago.

It was the first time mother, and I had stepped foot into the Harrison household, and despite my best efforts to be careful, I had accidentally broken Burgess's mother's favorite vase. To him, it was a priceless heirloom, a cherished memento of his late mother's love.

But instead of understanding, Burgess had flown into a rage, hurling hurtful words at me and forcing me to kneel in front of his mother's portrait, begging for forgiveness. And mother, instead of defending me, had scolded me for my clumsiness, aiding Burgess in his humiliation of me. Burgess looked down at me and said, 'You're despicable!'"

I recalled bitterly, the memory still fresh in my mind after all these years. From that moment on, I had harbored a deep-seated grudge against him, our encounters always fraught with tension and animosity.

When Burgess had left for England months later, I had breathed a sigh of relief, finally free from his oppressive presence. I had moved out, determined to live my life on my own terms, away from the suffocating confines of the Harrison household.

But fate had other plans, and three years later, Burgess had returned, plunging me back into the same reality I had hoped to escape. And now, as I sat there, nursing the sting of mother's slap, I realized that some wounds never truly healed, no matter how much time had passed.