Page 139 of Filthy Royal

Numbers weren’t his thing, but he estimated there must be at least a million vids stored in this one wall unit alone.

The whole Golden Dome was one giant spy network.

“These are his less important vids.” Scarlett spoke from behind him. “You won’t find anything of use to you here.”

Truth? Or more subterfuge? He had no idea, but they were under a time crunch, and he needed to check out what was behind door number two before determining how best to spend his time.

Plus, the dust covering many of the drawer pulls supported her claim.

He dragged her with him and moved to the door behind the desk. Unlike the first one, it did not slide open at his touch.

“Private elevator.” She spoke once more. “The exit Darvish likely used the moment he realized you were back in the dome.”

Damien clenched his laser tighter, trying to manage his disappointment. “Another critical detail you omitted. Thanks for letting me know about the layout—afterthe fact.”

Scarlett scowled right back at him. “Would you have taken my word? Or needed to check it out for yourself anyway?”

“No comment.”Damned. She knew him too well.

“We need to start with that.” She tilted her chin toward the desk in the middle of the room. “If there’s anything important left in this room, it will be there.”

He strode to the desk and tossed Maxheim’s cloak over one corner. “You’re being awfully accommodating all of a sudden.”

She shrugged. “I’d rather not implode if I can help it. Plus, the sooner I find you something useful, the sooner you leave.”

Ouch.“Got it.”

Scarlett blew out a long breath. “Also… you mentioned your sister. Whatever you might think of me now, Damien, I hope you remember enough of the girl I once was to know I wouldn’t deliberately allow any female to be hurt.”

She studied the desk.

Damien studied her, feeling as small as an electron particle.

He’d let anger and hatred color his memories, mostly because it had been easier.

But being with the real Scarlett made it much harder to wallow in righteous disgust. The truth was, until she turned on him, Scarlett had always struck him as kind. Loyal. And as wildly in love with him as he’d been with her.

Which was why what she’d done to him had made so little sense.

Shackled and disgraced, a tournament loser, he’d decided on that miserable shuttle ride back to Abzal that falling for her was proof of his impulsive, hot-headed, act-without-thinking-it-through tendencies. He’d reasoned that everything he’d felt for her must have been wrong as well.

Mostly because there was no changing what happened. She’d fucked him over, a good friend had died, and then she’d tied herself to someone who wasn’t him.

He’d lost her in every way possible, and it had fucking ripped him apart. Hating her had been the only way to lessen the agonizing pain, to make sense of a loss so vast it all but destroyed him.

But what if consigning her to his long list of mistakes had been the error?

Damned it, he didn’t like doubt. Or waffling. He preferred to keep it simple.

However, what he felt for this omega was anything but.

Still, after four planetary rotations of believing one thing, telling himself one thing, it was hard to shift gears. Trust had never come easily to him. It came harder after what she’d done.

But even a hothead Enforcer could pivot when necessary.

Damien turned his attention to his wrist comms and started typing.

“What are you doing?” Scarlett’s voice was tight. “We don’t have much time.”

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