All Chapters of The Tycoon’s Temptress - Red Flower’s Chase: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Colonel Rex Dalton’s POV I sat across from Raffaele in a private conference room at the Baghdad Ishtar Hotel. He faced me with that unreadable stare, Matteo seated at his side; his private intelligence operative that was observative and silent. “Well,” I said with a low chuckle, “welcome, Mr. Ricchezza. You actually showed. I didn’t think you had the guts.” Beside me, Miles was already adjusting his glasses with that same nervous tick of his. But I knew better. Behind that awkward gestures he was as slick and dangerous as they came. A snake in a suit. That’s why I kept him close. “I brought Miles along,” I went on, tilting my head with a mocking grin. “I think you two have met?” “I certainly have,” Raffaele said with his tone sour. I leaned back, letting the light catch on the rows of ribbons and medals pinned to my chest. My uniform was flawless, the green pressed sharp, every decoration in place. He had to see it, had to understand what kind of power I repr

Valentina’s POV The Sicilian sun hung low over the turquoise sea, painting the rocky cliffs of Modica in shades of amber and gold. From our stone villa’s balcony, the view was breathtaking with waves crashing against the shoreline and the salty breeze carrying hints of wild thyme and citrus. But beauty couldn’t touch the storm brewing inside me. I leaned against the railing, my hand absently resting on my belly, watching Raffaele pace back and forth restlessly. His dark hair was tousled from running his fingers through it, his black shirt clinging to his lean frame in the humidity. The meeting with Colonel Rex Dalton had left him on edge, and it showed in every tense stride. “The meeting didn’t go well,” he said finally, stopping to grip the railing, his knuckles white. His voice was stern, laced with frustration. “Dalton’s getting desperate. Washington’s is getting impatient as they want results, or his funding dries up. That’s why he made such a bold move, threatening

Valentina’s POV Outside the oval windows, the sky stretched endlessly. Clouds looked like cotton candy spun into strange shapes, glowing as the sun poured down on them like a field of snow as the private jet flew high. “So… we’re really going to Mallorca in Spain?” I asked Raffaele as the jet jolted with a patch of turbulence. My stomach was already twisted with nausea. “Yes,” he said, brows furrowing with concern. “It’s the best base. We’ll use their marina to get the big boat out, the one with all the equipment. Are you alright?” “Just morning sickness.” I gripped the soft leather armrest, trying to steady myself. “Can I have a glass of milk? And maybe a sandwich?” Raffaele squeezed my hand briefly before signaling the attendant. “So we’re scuba diving?” Kareem asked, flashing me a grin. “I love diving!” Nabil punched him in the arm. “As if you’ll be the captain. I’m diving first.” He puffed out his chest, grinning. Raffaele almost laughed. “I think Mrs. Ricchezza

Valentina’s POV I stepped closer, my fingers tracing the cuneiform inscriptions carved into the stone. It took me a while. The grooves were worn but still readable, their complete meaning tugging at my memory. “This… it’s about the red flower,” I said to him. “It says the flower’s essence activates orichalcum’s energy-producing properties. It’s seem like… a fusion process, but clean without radiation, just pure power. This must be how they fueled their city.” Kalenga’s eyes widened, his military precision giving way to awe. “So that’s how the red flower ties to Atlantis. This generator—it’s still producing energy, isn’t it? Look at those cogwheels. They’re moving like they were built yesterday.” “It’s incredible,” Tatekulu added, shaking his head. “How could a civilization this old pull this off? This is more advanced than most of the tech we’ve got today.” I shrugged, a playful smile tugging at my lips. “All it takes is one visionary ruler and a brilliant engineer. L

Tariq Al-Mansour’s POV I lounged on my cognac-colored sofa in my fortified house in Basra, the Shatt al-Arab river, a wide waterway formed by the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates glittering outside my window as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Guards stood silent outside my door, their shadows long and unmoving despite the pressing heat. Colonel Rex Dalton sat across from me in the living room, arms crossed, his face a mask of barely contained impatience. “Miles, get over here,” I said, my voice lazy but commanding. He smiled, adjusting his glasses in that habitual way of his—the same twitch every time, like a nervous tic hiding the extraordinary mind beneath his small, unassuming build. “Of course, Tariq. What do you need?” “A glass of whiskey. Ask the servant to get it,” I said, savoring the last of my smoky whiskey before downing it in one gulp. The burn was familiar, comfort.. “Colonel Rex Dalton, in the flesh and blood,” I said, smirking as I set the empty g