Evil MC's NTR Harem

Joan woke up with her heart still fluttering, her body heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction.

The sheets beneath her were a mess—wrinkled, stained, and warm with fading heat.

The scent of him still lingered on her skin, earthy and masculine, mixing with the soft ache between her thighs.

Her lips were sore from kissing, her legs weak from being spread so wide for so long, and yet there was a strange comfort in the afterglow.

She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up slowly, her fingers brushing through her tangled hair.

The room was quiet. The boys—Ross included—were already gone.

Only the echoes of last night remained. Moans. Gasps.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh. His voice whispering her name in the dark.

Judging by the soft, golden sunlight pouring through the blinds, it had to be well into the afternoon. Her eyes darted to the clock. 2:14 p.m.

"God…" she muttered to herself, cheeks flushing.

She found her clothes scattered across the room—her bra hanging off the edge of a chair, her underwear draped over a lamp, her blouse thrown carelessly to the floor like it never mattered.

She dressed quickly while wrapped herself in a huge blanket, her fingers trembling slightly, as if the reality of what had happened was still settling in.

As soon as she was fully dressed, she paused by the mirror. Her reflection looked... different.

Disheveled, yes—but glowing. Her lips were pink and slightly swollen.

Her eyes had a dazed softness to them.

She looked like a woman who had been well and truly taken. Claimed. Loved?

No, she shook her head quickly. It was too early to think like that. Too dangerous.

She opened the door quietly and slipped out, tiptoeing down the hall.

Her ears perked up as voices filtered through the open space ahead.

Laughter.

Snide comments.

Gossip.

Joan slowed her steps and pressed herself lightly against the wall, listening.

"I can't believe she just gave it up like that," a girl's voice said. It was sharp, biting. "Joan was supposed to be, like, classy. I really thought she was different."

Another girl responded, "Please. You saw the way she looked at him all week. It was obvious. Still thought she'd make him work harder for it, though."

A guy chuckled bitterly. "Whatever. The whole thing feels staged. Big D gets another hot girl in his bed? It's like clockwork. The show probably encouraged it."

"Yeah, well," someone else added with a sigh, "fake or not, I'm sure the sex was real. The walls aren't soundproof. I heard everything. Hell, the whole house did."

More laughter.

"Honestly, if she's handing it out that easy, she's not that special."

Joan's stomach twisted.

Each word felt like a tiny dagger, digging into the high she'd woken up with.

Her cheeks flamed. Her lips trembled.

She wanted to turn and run back to the room, crawl under the sheets, and disappear.

But she stayed rooted in place, letting their voices slice through her.

She knew this would happen. Of course people would talk.

Jealousy was poison in a closed environment like this.

But knowing it didn't make it hurt any less.

She pressed a hand to her chest.

Her heart thudded—not with regret, but with something tangled and complicated.

She had wanted Ross. She still did. She had chosen him.

And what happened last night hadn't been empty or mechanical.

He hadn't just taken her—he made her feel wanted, craved, like she was the only girl in the world for him.

And she liked that feeling. More than she was willing to admit.

She slipped away before anyone saw her, walking quietly down the hallway, avoiding the kitchen where the others were gathered.

She made it to the balcony and leaned against the railing, breathing in the warm breeze.

The garden below was peaceful. Too peaceful for how loud her thoughts had become.

Was this just one night for him? Or would she be another name on the list?

She didn't know.

But when she closed her eyes, all she could remember was his voice murmuring in her ear, his lips trailing down her neck, and the way he looked at her—like she wasn't just another girl, but his girl.

Maybe she would find the truth soon enough.

Joan stepped down into the living room, and instantly, the atmosphere shifted.

Conversations faltered mid-sentence. Forks paused halfway to mouths.

Eyes flicked in her direction—some curious, some judgmental, others outright cold.

A heavy hush settled, as if the entire house had been waiting for her to appear.

Her heart thumped, but she kept her posture steady, shoulders back, chin high.

She wasn't going to shrink under their stares. Not after last night.

Not after everything she gave, and everything she received in return.

Then a voice called from the hallway. "Joan? They're outside."

She blinked, nodded, and followed the sound.

A warm breeze met her as she stepped through the open glass doors that led to the back patio.

The sight before her made her pause for a moment.

There he was.

Ross.

Sitting at the head of a large outdoor table with his usual magnetic presence, flanked by stunning women—each of them relaxed, glowing, radiant in their own way.

Plates of delicious food were spread out before them: grilled meats, fruit platters, cold drinks that sparkled in the sunlight.

Laughter filled the air—light, genuine, unbothered.

It looked like a dream. Like a scene straight from some twisted fantasy where the king sat with his queens, basking in his glory.

And in that moment, Joan understood something deeply.

She didn't regret her choice. Not one bit.

Even if the others whispered behind her back. Even if she had stepped down from the pedestal they once put her on.

That pedestal had always been a prison. And last night, she had broken free of it.

Yes, she was his now.

A slave in name—maybe.

But it was more than that. She had chosen him.