Evil MC's NTR Harem

"This is okay, right?" Amanda murmured to herself, standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom.

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress, smoothing it down for the fifth time in as many minutes.

She wore a form-fitting, midi-length red dress. The fabric was smooth and slightly glossy under the light, clinging to her body like a second skin.

Sleeveless, with delicate spaghetti straps that crisscrossed at her back, the dress dipped into a modest V-neckline—just enough to hint without shouting.

The cut was simple, almost minimalistic, but the color… the color was bold, arresting. The kind of red that stopped people in their tracks.

Amanda let out a slow breath as she turned slightly from side to side, watching the fabric stretch across her hips and thighs, accentuating every curve.

It wasn't something she would normally wear—not for a casual Saturday. Not for a simple lunch with a friend.

But he wasn't just any friend.

She bit her lip, her reflection staring back at her with a mixture of self-doubt and determination.

The truth was, she had spent the better part of an hour deciding what to wear.

She'd tried on a dozen outfits, all safer choices—jeans and a blouse, a cute sundress, even a sleek pair of trousers with a tucked-in top.

But none of them felt right. None of them made her feel… confident.

And then she'd remembered the red dress.

Still hanging in her closet, untouched since she bought it months ago on a whim during a summer sale.

She had never found the right occasion to wear it. Until now.

Her fingers reached for her small gold earrings and clasped them on with practiced ease.

A hint of perfume behind the ears. A swipe of lip gloss. One last fluff of her soft waves. It was done.

Amanda studied herself again and swallowed hard. "Too sexy," she muttered. "Way too sexy." And yet, she didn't move to change.

Because deep down, beneath the nerves, she wanted to look good. She wanted him to notice.

She wanted to step into that restaurant and see the flicker of surprise—or maybe desire—in his eyes.

Still, she whispered to herself, "It's just a friendly meeting. Nothing more."

With her purse slung over her shoulder and her phone buzzing gently to remind her she was already running late, Amanda stepped out of her apartment and called a cab.

The ride was quiet, giving her too much time to think.

She stared out the window as the city passed by—familiar streets, people walking hand-in-hand, storefronts glowing with weekend life.

Her stomach fluttered with a strange cocktail of excitement and apprehension.

Was she overthinking this? Probably. But she couldn't help it.

She hadn't felt this way about someone in a long time.

When the cab finally pulled up, Amanda stepped out and stared up at the restaurant.

It was one of the more exclusive spots in the city—modern architecture with sleek glass windows and a warm golden interior that glowed invitingly in the late afternoon light.

She had never been here before. He had suggested it.

Amanda inhaled deeply, adjusting the strap of her purse and brushing an invisible wrinkle off her dress.

The air was cool against her bare shoulders, and her heels clicked softly on the sidewalk as she walked toward the entrance.

"Just a friendly meeting," she said again, under her breath. She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince anymore—herself, or the fluttering in her chest that had only grown louder since she left home.

As she stepped inside, the soft hum of clinking glasses and quiet conversation filled her ears.

A hostess greeted her with a smile, and Amanda gave his name, her voice steady despite the quickening beat of her heart.

He was already there.

She spotted him near the back of the restaurant—seated at a table by the window, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled casually up his forearms.

He looked effortlessly rich and strong, lost in thought as he glanced over the menu. Then, as if sensing her presence, he looked up.

Their eyes met.

And in that instant, all of Amanda's doubt and second-guessing melted into something warm and electric.

His expression changed—surprise, admiration, and something deeper flashing across his face.

Her lips curved into a shy, uncertain smile.

Maybe… this wasn't just a friendly meeting after all.

The two sat comfortably across from each other at the candlelit table, the gentle clatter of silverware and soft murmur of the restaurant forming a warm backdrop to their conversation.

Between sips of wine and elegantly plated courses, Amanda and Ross exchanged words with ease, like two people who had known each other far longer than they truly had.

Ross, ever composed and charismatic, was generous with his compliments, his gaze often lingering on Amanda with a softness that made her heart flutter despite her best efforts to remain guarded.

"You look stunning today, Amanda. Absolutely stunning," he said, his voice low and genuine.

Amanda looked away, cheeks flushing. It wasn't the first compliment she'd received in her life, but something about the way Ross said it—so calmly, so assuredly—made it feel different. More personal. More real.

She cleared her throat lightly, masking her embarrassment with a playful smile.

"Thanks," she said, then added with a slight edge of teasing, "but I'm sure I'm not even half as pretty as any of your wives, Ross."

There it was. The wall. Not aggressive, not cold—but a reminder that she hadn't forgotten who he was. Ross Oakley. Billionaire. Powerhouse.

A man whose name graced headlines and gossip columns, often alongside impossibly beautiful women and whispered scandals.

Ross only smiled, his eyes twinkling with something unreadable.

"Perhaps, perhaps," he said smoothly, his tone calm, unbothered. He didn't rise to the bait. He didn't need to. He had nothing to prove.

Amanda watched him, unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed by his confidence. Maybe both.

But what struck her more than anything was how present he was.

He listened—truly listened—when she spoke.

He asked about her interests, her thoughts on books, travel, art.

He didn't interrupt or dominate the conversation, and when he laughed, it was with his eyes as much as his voice.