That gruff, muscled Vandalar saikh I bought myself keeps running away. So I do what every lonely woman in her thirties would: I cuff him to my bed until he comes to his senses.
At least now I don’t have to chase behind him in high heels, and can concentrate on starting my mail-order-saikh business. What could possibly go wrong?
I tell you what: he frees himself. Of course, he does.
Now I’m the one tied to the bed while he threatens punishment. I really should freak out about this, having so much work to do building myself a new existence and all — but I’m just happy he’s finally showing some initiative.