But I also saw something else.
Conflict.
Because he knew—he knew—that if he pushed too hard, I’d walk.
And he couldn’t lose me.
Not now.
“I understand the danger,” I said quietly, my voice softening. “I do. But I can’t live like this, Amai. I can’t have men watching my every move, reporting back to you, treating me like I’m some kind of prisoner.”
“They’re not—”
“That’s what it feels like.”
He exhaled slowly, his hand running over his face.
“What do you want?”
“I want them off my property. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to feel them watching me.”
“Truth—”
“I’m not done.” I held his gaze. “They can’t report my personal activities to you. Where I go, who I see, what I do—that’s my business. Not yours.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“They can only intervene if I’m in immediate danger. Real danger. Not just because they think I’m making a bad decision or going somewhere you wouldn’t approve of.”
Amai was silent for a long moment.
I could see the struggle written all over his face. Every instinct in him was screaming against this. Against letting go of control. Against losing visibility.
But he also knew this mattered to me.
And somewhere along the way, what mattered to me had started to matter to him.
“Fine,” he finally said, his voice tight. “They stay off your property. They keep their distance. They don’t report your movements unless it’s a safety issue.”
“And I get their names and contact information.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “What?”
“If they’re protecting me, I want to know who they are. I want their names, their numbers, and a way to contact them if I need to.”
Amai stared at me like I’d just asked him to hand over state secrets.
“You want me to give you the identities of my security team.”
“Yes.”
“Truth—”
“If you want me to trust them, I need to know who they are. Otherwise, they’re just strangers following me around, and that’s not protection. That’s surveillance.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working.
Then, slowly, he nodded.