Evil MC's NTR Harem

By evening, the lights dimmed, the music thumped, and the scent of alcohol filled the house.

Another party was in full swing.

Drinks were passed around, laughter echoed from room to room, and the stress of the week dissolved in a wave of unrestrained energy.

The mood was electric—hands wandered, lips met, and boundaries blurred.

Ross stood near the edge of the room, glass in hand, surrounded by his women.

They clung to him, giggling, glowing with pride and pleasure.

Their dresses were tight and low, showing off the curves he'd memorized in the dark.

They whispered in his ear, touched his chest, and kissed his neck.

He smiled, giving them just enough attention to keep them close—but his eyes were scanning.

Because Ross wasn't done.

Even in the middle of the party, even as bodies danced and the music pulsed like a heartbeat, he was stalking.

He watched the others with the calm precision of a hunter.

Every smile, every shy glance cast in his direction, every flick of a wrist or bite of a lip—it didn't go unnoticed.

He was calculating who would fall next. Who would want to taste what his women already had. Who would be the next to melt under his touch and beg for more.

And they were already watching him too.

A few girls near the bar kept sneaking glances his way.

One even dropped her gaze and blushed when their eyes met.

Another leaned closer to her friend and whispered something, both of them laughing softly—but the second girl's gaze lingered on Ross's chest.

He saw all of it.

The party raged on around him, wild and carefree.

But Ross stood at the center like a king surveying his domain.

The bed had barely cooled from the last round of passion… and already, new prey was falling into his web.

Because for Ross, there was always another game.

And he always played to win.

Ross began moving across the crowded room with that same effortless confidence that made people either admire him or envy him—or both.

His women watched him go with knowing smiles, already familiar with the hunt.

The music thumped in the background, bodies danced, drinks clinked, but all of it seemed to slow down as people noticed where Ross was heading.

"Damn! Big D really moves fast," one of the guys muttered under his breath, nudging his friend as they both turned to look.

"Yup, looks like he's got his eyes on someone new again. Doesn't he realize eviction's tomorrow night?" another whispered, keeping his voice low but his gaze locked on Ross.

"That guy's pushing his luck too far. One of these days it'll blow up in his face," a third added, sipping his drink but unable to tear his eyes away from the unfolding scene.

They weren't wrong. Ross had already stirred up the house with his conquests, his dominance, and the way he carried himself like he owned every room he walked into.

But this time, he was aiming higher—a woman who had, so far, remained untouchable.

She was one of the five most beautiful women in the house, no question.

But unlike the others, she kept her guard up. She didn't flirt. She didn't gossip.

She didn't play games.

She was seated alone on one end of the party lounge, legs crossed gracefully, wearing a sleek dark red dress that hugged her curves without begging for attention.

Her long hair was tied up loosely, strands falling over one shoulder.

Her expression was calm, unreadable—her eyes scanning the room as if everyone else were playing a game she had no interest in.

Ross, of course, found that irresistible.

He approached her without hesitation, cutting through the loose crowd like a knife.

People stepped aside instinctively.

The music pulsed, lights flickered, but the focus shifted entirely onto the two of them.

He came to a stop in front of her, holding a glass of red wine in one hand, and a charming, slightly mocking grin on his lips.

"You're drinking Coke?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "What are you, a baby?"

Without missing a beat, the woman looked up at him—calm, cool, and unimpressed.

Her eyes flicked to the wine, then back to Ross's face.

She accepted the glass with a delicate hand but didn't raise it to her lips.

"Thanks," she said evenly, "but no thanks."

She set the glass down on the side table beside her untouched, her fingers still wrapped around her soda.

"I don't drink," she continued. "And if not drinking alcohol makes me a baby… then I guess I'm the most mature baby in this entire house."

Her tone was smooth, her voice soft but edged with steel.

She didn't raise her voice or get defensive—she simply pushed back with cool, quiet confidence.

Around them, a few people overheard and exchanged looks.

Some chuckled under their breath. Others waited to see what Ross would do. No one dared interrupt.

Ross's grin widened, not offended in the slightest. In fact, her response only intrigued him more.

"You know," he said, easing himself down to sit beside her, "most people in this house either giggle when I speak to them or melt on the spot. You're not like most people."

She gave him a side glance, unbothered. "Is that your line for every woman who doesn't jump into your bed?"

He let out a low chuckle. "No. You'd be surprised how rarely I get told no."

"I'm not surprised," she replied. "You walk around like you're collecting trophies."

Ross tilted his head, amused. "And what would that make you?"

She turned to him fully now, her gaze sharp and unflinching. "A mirror. One you don't want to look too long into."

For a moment, the tension thickened. Even the music seemed to fade.

Ross leaned back slightly, swirling his wine. "You're good," he said. "I like that."

"I'm not here to be liked," she replied. "Especially not by someone who treats women like a hobby."