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Breakfast was silent until Yaram spoke. 'You will not leave the house without my permission.' Zoya placed her teacup down with a clatter. 'I am a free individual, Yaram. You cannot control my movements.' Yaram leaned forward, his gaze intense. 'As long as you carry my name, you will follow my rules.' The air in the room was thick with tension. It was a battle of two strong egos, neither willing to yield. Yet, in the middle of their anger, a spark of attraction was lit—one that would eventually burn down their walls of pride and resentment.