We fell asleep by the fireplace, on the carpet and cushions covered with a single plaid. The last thing I remembered was hugging Cirkul''s warm back and nuzzling my nose into the collar of his shirt.


    It was late morning and I stretched out and opened my eyes. I was lying on the bed in Grant''s and my bedroom; it seemed he''d brought me here.


    The guy was in the dressing room, hangers banging together as he picked out clothes.


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    I sat up on the bed and raised my hand to unravel the braid that had become dishevelled during the night, but I froze, unable to believe my eyes.


    My left wrist was now encircled by a bracelet almost identical to that of the president''s son, only thinner and more feminine. A chain was attached to the strap.


    I was no longer on a leash; now our hands were joined by metal links. We were now equals.


    My heart stopped – the gift was too unexpected – and then started beating again as I glanced at the bedside table.


    In front of me was a shoebox containing a pair of trainers the colour of ‘eye-poison’.