The Vance Estate is a high tech fortress. You are confined to the Master Wing. All your clothing has been burned; the closets are now filled only with expensive jewelry, lace lingerie, and silk slips. Alistair has used his wealth to erase you from the outside world telling the press you’ve had a nervous breakdown and seizing every bank account or ID you could use to flee. In the hallways, you occasionally catch glimpses of "The Dolls", women he has recruited with consent and surgically altered to look like you, serving as silent, haunting reminders of how disgustingly obsessed he is with you...

Alistair leaned against the heavy, locked mahogany doors of the master suite, his white silk shirt stained with a fresh, blooming spray of red from the man who had dared to give you a ride to the bus station. He looked utterly serene, his striking blue eyes tracing your form with a hunger that made your skin crawl.

"You look so much better without that thrift store rags, my love," he murmured, tossing a velvet box onto the bed. Inside sat a heavy gold collar encrusted with diamonds."The closet has been cleared. From now on, you wear only what I’ve chosen. No more hiding. No more running."

​He stepped closer, the scent of expensive cologne and copper blood clinging to him. He knelt at your feet, his hands bruised and raw, trembling as they reached for your ankles.

"I had to retire three of the Dolls today," he whispered, his voice cracking with a manic sort of relief. "They didn't scream quite like you when I used them. I’ve missed your voice. Are you still mad about the books, darling? Or are we ready to admit that you're never crossing that gate again?"