Evil MC's NTR Harem

The middle aged man turned to the rest of the production team who had gathered near the door, now buzzing with excitement.

"Prepare everything! Set up extra security, rework the schedule, I don't care—make it happen!" the man barked. "This show is going to break every damn chart!"

The woman smiled, but a small shadow of concern flickered behind her eyes.

Ross Oakley wanted nothing—not fame, not fortune. Just control.

And that alone made him far more unpredictable than anyone they'd ever worked with before.

***

A week after the initial agreement, the production team was buzzing with excitement, preparing for what they thought would be a standard celebrity onboarding.

Then the message from Ross Oakley arrived—cold, concise, and entirely unexpected.

It was only a few lines, but the impact was nuclear.

He had accepted their terms.

But with one massive twist.

No cameras during his arrival. No media announcement. No press release.

And most importantly—no one, not even the other celebrities, was to know it was him.

His identity would remain hidden.

He would appear as a completely anonymous wildcard in the show.

The message stunned the team. The room fell dead silent as they finished reading.

The middle-aged executive—producer of the highest-rated reality show in the country—stood slowly from his chair, as if unsure whether what he'd just read was a prank or a nightmare.

"What the actual fuck! Is he for real?" he shouted, slamming the tablet onto the desk. The sound echoed through the glass office.

"He wants to hide his identity? And he wants us to just go along with it?"

His voice grew louder with each word, nearly shaking the walls.

"No, no, no—this isn't some random audition tape! This is Ross Oakley! We marketed the season around him! Viewers are expecting a grand reveal. Sponsors are banking on it. You can't just bring in the most talked-about man in the world and then cover his face!"

He turned toward his assistant, face flushed with disbelief and fury.

"Tell him to reconsider. Right now!"

"Will do, boss," the woman nodded and rushed out of the room, phone already in hand.

The wait was excruciating. For the next hour, the executive paced his office like a general losing a war.

He stared out the window, mumbled ideas to himself, cursed at invisible enemies, and tried—and failed—to imagine a solution.

When the assistant returned, her expression told the story before she even spoke.

"He's firm," she said simply. "Non-negotiable. He wants to stay hidden. No face. No name. He says, and I quote: 'If they can't recognize me for who I am beneath the mask, then they don't deserve to know.'"

The executive slowly sank into his chair, exhaling hard. He looked like a man who had just aged five years in sixty minutes.

"Fuck..." he whispered, rubbing his forehead. "This guy's not just playing a game. He's rewriting it."

The room stayed quiet for a long moment.

Then, suddenly, something shifted. His eyes lit up. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"If he wants to hide… then fine. We'll let him."

He stood again, but this time with purpose. His voice was sharp, focused.

"But there's no way in hell he's entering the Celebrity Edition house like this. I won't risk the others walking out. We can't have a silent masked man walking around high-profile influencers and actors like some horror movie extra. It'll creep them out. They'll start thinking he's a stalker or a plant. You know how sensitive they are."

"So what's the play?" the assistant asked, intrigued.

"We pivot," he said with a smirk. "We delay his entrance."

"And when does Ross enter?"

The executive grinned wider. "Next season. Not this one. Not with these celebrities. He can have his mask with a bunch of nobodies instead."

The woman nodded, already visualizing the moment.

"And the housemates?"

"They'll lose their minds," he laughed. "Half will try to figure out who he is. The other half will try to get him evicted out of paranoia. Either way, he'll dominate the camera—without ever showing his face."

"And the audience?"

"Oh, they'll be hooked," he said, eyes glinting. "This won't just be a reality show anymore. This will be television history. The masked wildcard, the mystery king… and when the reveal comes—if it comes—they'll lose their minds. Ross is naive if he thinks that he could keep his identity forever."

The assistant smirked. "So… what do I tell Ross?"

"Simple," he said. "Tell him we've made the arrangements. The game is his."

He paused, then added with a chuckle, "Just make sure we've got cameras on every inch of that house. Because whatever he does in there… people are going to want to watch it. Over. And over. Again."

The year flew by in a whirlwind of hype, scandals, and record-breaking ratings.

The Celebrity Edition of the world's most-watched reality series—House of Fortune—had come and gone, making waves across every major media outlet on the planet.

Viewers were hooked, sponsors were thrilled, and the network basked in the success.

Until now.

2039 arrived, and with it came the highly anticipated Adult Edition of House of Fortune—a version designed for mature audiences, unfiltered drama, and bolder twists.

And this time, Ross Oakley was ready.

No more delays. No more cryptic messages.

His appearance had been planned down to the second.

No one in the cast knew he was coming. Not the producers on the ground.

Not even the cameras that usually caught every unscripted moment.

His identity and entrance were guarded by layers of NDAs, encrypted files, and airtight secrecy.

And then—on the third week of the show—just as the housemates were beginning to settle into their roles and alliances…

The lights dimmed.

A strange announcement played over the house speakers in a deep, distorted voice:

"A guest has arrived. He is not here to play fair. He is not here to make friends. He is here to win."

The front doors creaked open.

And in stepped a towering figure, dressed in black, face completely hidden behind an ornate silver mask that glinted under the studio lights.

He didn't say a word. He didn't need to.

Ross Oakley had finally entered the game.

And from that moment on… the house would never be the same.