Go Away Im a Billionairess Now

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.