Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Tycoon’s Temptress - Red Flower’s Chase: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

Kareem’s POVMy shoulder throbbed—a lingering reminder of the last mission’s failure under Signora Giuliana’s orders.“You remember that escort job for Mrs. Valentina?” I asked Nabil, still keeping my eyes on the shadows. “Thought it’d be routine.”Nabil grunted, scanning the street. “Yeah. We were so wrong.”I chuckled darkly, the pain flaring as I shifted. “Humiliating.””I can’t wait for a rematch” I chuckled, Nabil nodded and understood me perfectly well. We had worked so long together now. “Let’s be sharp,” Nabil answered me. “We need clues on those empty boxes.”I tapped my earpiece into place. “Raffaele won’t like us coming up empty handed indeed,” I muttered, turning it on.“Kareem, Nabil, report,” Raffaele’s voice was clipped, sharp, the usual calm authority. He expected results.“Warehouse is secure, no movement—still deserted. Over,” I replied.Nabil nodded. “Keep a lookout. If this goes south, you know what to report.”“The Trail’s cold,” I told Raffaele via earpiece, eye

Valentina’s POV Zahra clasps her hands gently, eyes shimmering with appreciation. “That was… enchanting,” she says with a soft and clear voice. “You truly have a gift, Mrs. Ricchezza—not just with words, but with presence. It felt as though the past had come alive.” Hassan, seated beside her, leans forward slightly, nodding with a thoughtful expression. “Mesmerizing,” he agrees. “Very few people can command a room so wholeheartedly without raising their voice.” Zahra smiles, a touch of warmth—and calculation—in her gaze. “I see now why my husband insisted we meet you. He was right. There’s something… simply unforgettable about you.” “I’m truly grateful for the compliment,” I say with a sugar-sweet smile. “It means the world coming from such cultured and enlightened people as yourselves.” Raffaele looks at me—and for once, he’s at a loss for words. As the final notes of laughter drift across the table and the last of the savory dishes are cleared, a silver tray is brou

Valentina’s POV I stood on the edge of it, arms resting against the railing of our room—the master suite in the Ricchezza beach villa perched on the Al-Faw Peninsula, where the Persian Gulf kissed the horizon in bruised shades of blue. I was watching the sunrise wrapped in a cozy robe as it painted the ocean in faint shades of blushed pink, pale gold, and soft coral. The waves lapped soothingly against the shore. My slippers padded softly against the marble floor, and the warm breeze tugged at me as if trying to pull me back inside. Raffaele had been gone for almost a month now. I told myself it was a relief. That I welcomed the silence, the space, the absence of his piercing gaze and maddening precision. But the void he left behind said otherwise. The bed felt colder without his warmth. I hated the way he made me feel. I wanted to resent him, wanted him to grate on my nerves the way he used to—but the more I got to know him, the worse it became. God, I must look

Valentina’s POV The great ballroom of Sailhant Castle—once a grand medieval hall—had been exquisitely transformed for Tariq’s opulent auction gala. The space retained its historical grandeur: a high, exposed wooden ceiling painted deep crimson with thick beams, now dressed in cascading garlands of red roses and gold ribbons that gave the hall a festive, imperial air. The stone walls, once bare and cold, were softened by rich drapes of velvet—crimson and gold—falling in thick folds that preserved the castle’s character while elevating it to decadence. At the far end, the massive fireplace crackled softly, its hood adorned with delicate gold filigree. The flames cast a warm glow across the polished wooden floor, gleaming like a mirror beneath the candlelight. “You look breathtaking, Valentina,” Raffaele purrs into my ear, his voice low and smooth. I lean into his warmth, the scent of his cologne mingling with mine—coconut and vanilla, the exotic blend I’d chosen deliberately,

Valentina’s POV The private salon at Château du Sailhant reeked of power games and overcompensation. Gilded candelabra cast honey-glazed light over a table groaning with lavish French dishes—truffled foie gras, oysters in crystal bowls, a roasted duck glistening with olive oil. Every detail screamed curated excess. Everything was set for five. Just me and Raffaele and them. Tariq sat at the head, naturally. Raffaele and I took the seats at the other side of the table, opposite him and as far away as possible. Next to Tariq sat two men I’d rather forget I ever met before. I recognized the older one instantly—the informant who had tried to get me killed. He was now wearing a sharp suit instead of that ridiculous red scarf and tattered clothes back at the warehouse. The other… I remembered his face. The black market setup. The way he’d cornered and knocked out Maria like it was nothing. My blood boiled at the sight. And Tariq noticed how my eyes narrowed and darkend. A la