The Tycoon’s Temptress - Red Flower’s Chase のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

The phone buzzed on the carved cedar nightstand just as the midday sun crept through the gauzy curtains. Monica Buccella’s voice came through, velvety and mischievous. “Valentina, darling, guess what? Guiliana and Domenico Ricchezza invited me to dinner tonight at their beach house—with you, of course. Sunset, waves, and champagne. Interested?” I sat up, instantly intrigued. “Shouldn’t we make it… unforgettable?” My mind was already turning. “You still have those special hula hoops?” A low laugh curled through the line. “Your mother Graziella thought they were too dangerous for you, but I know better. You can handle them.” I smirked. “Game on.” It was nearly lunchtime, and I stood alone in my room, adjusting the straps of my brown swimsuit. The fabric clung to my body like a second skin, paired with a wrap skirt patterned with delicate white conch shells and geometric shapes that danced along my hips. My dark hair was twisted into a loose top knot, a few strands fal

Valentina’s POVDawn crept through the gauzy curtains of the Ricchezza beach house, painting the room in hues of amber and rose. I lay still, the weight of Raffaele’s arm anchoring me to the bed, his steady breath warm against my neck. The sheets smelled of him—sandalwood, saltwater. My body ached to stay, to sink into the heat of him, but my mind screamed to run. I had to move, to breathe and reclaim some form of control.I eased toward the edge of the bed, careful not to wake the predator beside me. My bare feet brushed the cool marble floor, and I was almost free when his hand shot out, snatching my waist with a grip that was both possessive and firm. He pulled me back, my body colliding with his chest, the air between us sparking with tension.“Thought a lot about what you said yesterday,” Raffaele murmured, his lips grazing my collarbone. A shiver of electricity raced down my spine, traitorously warm.I froze, my breath catching. “What do you mean?” I feigned innocence, but

Kareem turned first, reaching for his weapon, but a steel pipe came down hard against his back. He cried out, collapsing under a second blow to the knee. Nabil tried to draw his gun too, but two men tackled him from behind, slamming him against the wall and knocking the wind out of him. Maria screamed as a gloved hand struck her hard across the temple—she crumpled beside me, and I barely caught her arm before she hit the concrete.My pulse was racing. The air around us seemed to thicken with danger, the world narrowing making my vision blur.I stood frozen, just for a second, and that was enough.The informant had a twisted smirk plastered on his face, took a slow step back as if savoring the moment.I looked down at Maria then back at Nabil and Kareem. They were all down, groaning in pain. The attackers were still closing in on us.”Tsk tsk tsk Valentina” the man said with a low voice mocking me. Then my watch buzzed against my wrist—ever so subtle against my skin, but it yanked m

Inside the dimly lit vehicle, Maria lay unconscious, tended to by one of Raffaele’s medics.“I’m sorry,” I muttered, my eyes flicking between her pale face and Raffaele’s unreadable expression.“You should be glad Kareem and Nabil weren’t dead—or worse,” he replied coolly.My jaw clenched. The adrenaline was still thick in my blood, my nerves frayed to the edge. “You did all this to keep me alive. To control me.” My voice was tight, nearly trembling.He didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on mine—calm, intense, inescapable.“You’re damn right I did,” he said, unapologetic. “I did it because you’re valuable.”Valuable how? What exactly did he mean? He didn’t say—but I felt the unspoken words hanging heavy between us.“You can’t deny it anymore,” he added. “You’re part of this game—whether you like it or not.”His words dropped like stones.Later, as the car rolled into the parking lot of Ishtar hotel, he spoke again.Why are we going here and not to the beach house? I thought, feelin

Miles Carver’s POV The rhythmic chant echoes through the thick stone walls, waking me from a restless sleep. At first, it’s just a distant murmur, like the sound of a passing train. Then, as my mind claws its way to full consciousness, it becomes louder, sharper and more distinct. My eyes flicker open, my brain sluggish from last night’s entertainment, and a dull ache pulses through my head from the shots I drank. I sit up, disoriented, the taste of unfamiliar tea lingering on my tongue. I stretch and glance toward the window. Through the thick curtains, I catch a glimpse of movement in the courtyard below. A sea of disciplined bodies, marching in perfect formation, their synchronized steps in perfect harmony with the chant. Tariq’s men. “Ya Tariq! Ya Tariq! Ya Tariq!” The words swirl in the air, vibrating through the floorboards and rattling the frame of the window. I can’t help but grin. Tariq’s theatrics have a certain flair, and there’s an undeniable pull