The next morning, Samira woke up with a sense of dread lingering over her. She had barely managed to rest after the confrontation with Chris the previous day. The sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a harsh light on her disheveled room. She reluctantly got out of bed and made her way to the living room, hoping for a moment of peace. Instead, she found Chris seated on the squashy sofa, clearly waiting for her. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice sharp with irritation. "We've got to talk," he said, his tone calm but firm. He stood up and reached for her hand, trying to steer her toward the door. She pulled away, glaring at him. "I thought I made myself clear to you yesterday," she said, crossing her arms defiantly. "You did, but I haven't made myself clear to you yet," he replied, his eyes narrowing. "And don't worry, I don't need permission to coerce you to go with me, because I can easily do just that." He reached out to touch her face, but she evaded h
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