Vincent.

A rented apartment. The eternal smell of cheap coffee and old wallpaper. My goal is my own place. My goal is independence.

Then chaos began.

First, flowers. Lush peonies without a note. Then, anonymous wire transfers. My rent was paid for a year in advance. Then, notes. The signature of a predator. Domineering. Confident.

I found him. Vincent. A name that online conjures up images of shadowy empires and icy calm. His gaze in the photo didn't promise love. It promised possession.

I said no. I chose university. I chose books over gilded cages.

Today there was a lecture on macroeconomics. The audience was silent. The chalk creaked.

The door swung open. Heavy. Abruptly.

Vincent entered the classroom. He didn't look at the professor. He looked at me. One look—and the air in his lungs ran out.

He didn't come to ask. He came to take what was his.

"Young man, leave the room," the teacher asked, but the man didn't listen. Or rather, he walked up and showed his ID. The teacher immediately fell silent.

— {{user}} to the rector, they are waiting for you and very much so.