Evil MC's NTR Harem

Ross gave a crooked grin behind the mask.

"They tried," he said, shrugging.

"I've had my share of flings. Fast and fun. No strings attached. But nothing ever lasted. I never wanted it to. Until now."

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Let me guess—something about tonight feels different?"

He leaned in slightly, elbows on his knees, voice low and deliberate. "Doesn't it?"

Cara laughed again, this time tilting her head back, amused but not charmed—not yet, anyway.

"Nice try. But I'm already immune to guys like you. Especially the ones who sound like they swallow poetry books for breakfast."

Ross smiled, unbothered. "Then maybe I'm not like the others."

"Or maybe I've just heard every line in the book," she countered, lifting a brow. "And yours just has better delivery."

Ross looked at her for a moment longer, something unreadable in his eyes.

Then he leaned back again, letting the silence settle between them.

The music from the pool thudded in the background, distant and inconsequential now.

He let out a slow breath.

"I wasn't lying about the accident," he said quietly, tone more grounded.

"It changed things for me. The way people looked at me… the way I looked at myself. I started wearing this mask to hide it at first. But somewhere along the way, it became easier to keep it on than take it off."

Cara's smile faded slightly. She looked at him differently now—not with pity, but with a quiet kind of respect.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," Ross replied with a shrug. "It's just skin. And honestly? I think it forced me to grow up. I learned to stop relying on what people saw and start focusing on what I could make them feel."

She held his gaze for a long moment, then gave a small nod. "That's a pretty good philosophy."

"I try," Ross said, a faint smirk returning. "Besides, it makes the mystery more fun, doesn't it? Makes you wonder what I'm hiding under here."

Cara chuckled. "Oh, I already know what's under there."

Ross raised a brow. "Do you?"

"Yup. A guy who's too clever for his own good and just a little too used to getting what he wants."

He laughed at that, genuinely. "You're not wrong."

"I rarely am," she said with a wink.

There was a beat of silence, and then Cara looked away, her voice quieter. "Still… I think it's brave."

Ross tilted his head. "What is?"

"Showing up like this. Not pretending to be perfect. Being honest, even when you're clearly still guarded."

For once, Ross didn't have a witty comeback. He just nodded, almost imperceptibly.

A light breeze swept across the deck, rustling the leaves of nearby potted palms and lifting strands of Cara's hair, which she tucked behind her ear almost absentmindedly.

In the background, someone from the crew shouted about resetting lights, but neither of them reacted and just let the film continue.

Ross has explicitly said that he would be the one to cut a scene and no other had that ability.

It was just the two of them again—alone in a crowded space.

"Maybe I'm just saying that as a defense mechanism," Cara said softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, "but truly? I'm still figuring everything out. Again."

Ross turned to face her fully, his voice barely more than a murmur. "Then I'll wait."

She smiled at that, but this one wasn't playful or teasing. It was gentle. Real.

"Cut!"

Ross gave the signal again, and the crew instantly shifted gears.

They changed sets with seamless coordination, moving from the patio to the pool, then to the game room and beyond.

It was a scene of eventual chemistry: Cara and Ross swimming beneath the sun, splashing each other like kids; sitting across from each other at a small table, locked in an intense game of chess, their gazes flirting more than the moves on the board; walking side by side under string lights with bare feet brushing against cool tiles, their casual laughter echoing into the night.

Through each take, the subtle progression of emotion was undeniable.

The camera captured it all—the way Cara's eyes lingered just a little longer on Ross, the slight tremble in her voice when she laughed, the way her body instinctively leaned toward him when they talked.

Her character, once distant and guarded, was changing. She was falling for him.

And maybe, just maybe, the line between acting and reality was starting to blur.

Eventually, the crew moved inside.

The bedroom set had been prepared in advance: dim lights, soft jazz playing low in the background, candles flickering around the room, and a slight breeze from the air conditioner brushing against the curtains.

It wasn't explicit—just a moment of vulnerability and intimacy. A kiss.

Nothing more.

Cara stood on her mark. So did Ross.

They were close—almost too close. His presence was magnetic.

The mask only made him more mysterious, more alluring.

She could feel the tension building in her chest as they stared at each other silently, waiting for the director's cue.

She knew what the script called for. She'd read it a dozen times. She'd agreed to it.

It was just a kiss.

But before anyone could speak, a voice rang out across the set.

"Stop! I don't like this at all!"

Everyone froze.

Corey stepped into the scene, fury radiating off him like a storm.

His face was flushed, and his eyes were wide with disbelief and rage.

His clenched fists shook at his sides.

"Why the hell are you forcing Cara to make a kissing scene with you, D?! You absolute maniac! You're disgusting!"

His voice cracked as he yelled. A few of the crew looked away awkwardly.

Others simply watched, stunned.

Cara's eyes widened, but she didn't move. Her breath caught in her throat.

Ross didn't flinch. He stood calm, steady, and still—like he had expected this.

His voice, when it came, was flat and composed.

"It's just a kiss, Corey," Ross said. "This is a scripted scene. Everyone here knew what it was going to be."