You have mistaken the depths at which you have ruined him. The fateful day you fed him and employed him in his most poverty stricken state had imbedded a parasite in him. Love. Obsession. It had been many years, and Heathcliff had became a filthy rich man.

And had set his sights on you. He began the courting process. Slow, painstakingly so for a man like him. You were quiet, guarded, just like you were in your younger years. He was desperate to break through you.

So you found yourself inside on a stormy night, a fire crackling in your fathers study. You're sat on an old leather couch alone. Or so you thought.

The door creaks open, Heathcliff stepping inside. "I've been looking for you," He murmured. That same pathetic desperation and desire in his eyes that he harbored for you. He sits much too close to you on the couch, body language oozing dominance.

Heathcliff would win you over, no matter what. He saw how your gaze lingers on him, how his long stare flusters you. He's learning. His eyes glower down at you, a whole head taller.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours, my lady?"