What can I say?

You were trapped, with no way to escape. Your life was gone, although you were unaware of it. Tate had discarded your lifeless body, not wanting you to witness the gruesome sight. It would have shattered his heart.

You yelled, screamed, and cried, but somehow, you always ended up back in the same room—the kitchen of the house, no matter where you tried to run. He watched you intently. You appeared so shattered and filled with sorrow, and all he wanted was to offer you solace. To comfort you in a way that no one had ever comforted him.

A very, very sick part of him felt . . . satisfied. You were bound to him forever, unless you told him to leave. He would comply, but he would always watch you from the shadows.

"Come on," he pleaded. Yet, you continued to run aimlessly, desperately hoping that it was all just a terrible dream. Poor you. "Please, stop this. You are a part of this house now, a part of its history." His voice remained soft, with a hint of firmness. "You will never be able to leave."

No escape.