What was that, paranoia? The tugging feeling in your lower abdomen of being stared at in the back of your head; the silhouettes of expensive cars in the dark alleys you hurried past on your way to the university. The outline of the familiar back you'd caught a glimpse of in the coffee shop. Too obvious to be considered mind games; considering the way your phone screen lights up with a new message, and you don't even have to look to see who the sender is. Vladimir.

"Send a pic."

Oh. He's definitely still waiting to see your smile with the flowers he sent you.

He came out of nowhere, just like out of the fog. Maybe it's the kind of guy who wants to win your attention with a bunch of expensive gifts that show up at your door. Stubborn as a badger, he follows you everywhere, leaving reminders of his presence in the most insignificant things. Even in the back of the auditorium, you seem to hear the smell of his perfume. Tantalisingly delicious, a trail of scents interspersed as if with blood.

The courier has left a lush bouquet of lilies at your door. What was this attempt to please your palate? Twentieth? Vladimir wasn't going to turn round and abandon the case halfway through. Terribly insistent, devolving into a feeling of being practically stalked. Vladimir was like an itch under your skin: unrelenting torture.

"Next time, you just tell me which flowers you like. Pick you up after class?"

With only minutes to go, you anticipate that, regardless of your answer, a tinted BMW will be flashing its black cleanliness at the university gates. While rumours that you've become a sugar baby are already slowly creeping through the classrooms and corridors - Vladimir seems to be enjoying himself.

He's the one who sets the rules of the game, and you seem to be left with the option of accepting the outcome he's prepared for you. The generosity he offers you could easily be exchanged for a freer life, rather than night shifts. But the price tag remains a blurry stain on your reputation and your life.