Evil MC's NTR Harem

That hit harder than Cara expected.

For a long second, neither of them said anything. The lights from the set buzzed faintly.

The crew, sensing something private unfolding, respectfully gave them distance, pretending to be busy but still listening.

Cara slowly let out a breath.

"Hahhh…" Her chest rose and fell as she tried to ground herself.

There was no denying it—something inside her hurt.

A quiet, biting sting that she couldn't name.

Why does this feel personal? It's just a scene. Just a dumb weekly task in a tv show.

Just a kiss… right?

Still, she couldn't deny the flutter of disappointment that Ross hadn't chosen her for something more... human.

She wasn't sure whether she wanted to be seen as talented or desired.

She only knew she hated feeling disposable.

And yet, despite everything, she still respected the way Ross handled it.

Cold as it was, it was honest.

She looked at him again—really looked at him.

He wasn't mocking her. He wasn't manipulating her.

He had simply laid the cards on the table.

No pretense. No lies.

Maybe that's why it hurt.

Cara straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

She gave herself a second to collect the storm inside, then looked at the director and gave a nod.

"Okay. Let's do this."

The words came out clean and clear.

Ross gave her a look—steady and unreadable—and nodded in return.

They both turned to their marks.

The lights adjusted. The director gave instructions softly over the headset.

A soft track began playing, one meant to underscore intimacy and quiet tension.

Corey stood frozen on the sidelines, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched so hard it trembled.

The director raised his hand.

"Quiet on set. Roll cameras."

And just like that, the moment began.

Cara stood in front of Ross under the low light of the bedroom scene, trying to push aside the ache that lingered in her chest.

She didn't know if her trembling hands were from nerves or something deeper.

But she did know this—

She wasn't acting anymore.

And that made the scene far more real than it was ever meant to be.

"Are you sure about this, Cara?" Ross asked, his voice low, laced with concern.

It wasn't part of the script—this line was real, unscripted.

His eyes, half-hidden behind the sleek black mask, searched hers with something far softer than the confident, cocky energy he usually gave off.

Cara stood there, heart thudding in her chest.

The lights weren't too bright, but everything around her suddenly felt exposed.

Her lips parted slightly as she tried to remember the lines—simple, playful, teasing.

That's all this was supposed to be.

She drew in a slow breath. Then another.

And finally, the words came back.

A sly smile curved her lips, a flicker of mischief briefly covering the storm brewing behind her eyes.

"Why?" she said, her tone light. "Is the famous playboy getting nervous in front of a pretty little woman like me?"

Ross smirked. But there was a flicker in his gaze—a brief spark of something deeper.

"Of course not," he murmured. "I'm just letting you know one thing…"

He stepped forward—close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne, a clean blend of citrus and smoke.

"Once I start… I don't remember the word stop anymore."

The moment froze. Then—

Ross leaned in and kissed her.

Softly at first.

His lips pressed against hers with surprising gentleness, careful and controlled—as if testing the waters, making sure she had the space to pull away if she wanted to.

But Cara didn't move.

For the first second, she was stunned.

This was it—her first kiss—and it felt nothing like what she had imagined. No fireworks.

No slow-motion cinematic haze. Just pressure. Warmth. Tension.

And then—

Her eyes fluttered closed, and something shifted.

The nerves dissolved, replaced by an unfamiliar flutter low in her belly.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. Her breath hitched in her throat.

It was as if her entire body suddenly remembered something she never knew to begin with.

"Hmmmm…"

A soft sound escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Ross didn't pull away. In fact, he deepened the kiss, just slightly. Not too much.

Not aggressive. But with enough certainty to tell her that he wasn't acting anymore either.

His hand came up slowly, gently cupping her cheek, thumb brushing just beneath her eye.

She didn't expect the jolt that came from that single touch.

It spread through her chest like a spark catching dry leaves.

What is this feeling?

The kiss grew warmer, slower, deeper—not in intensity, but in meaning. It wasn't about lust.

It wasn't even about the scene anymore.

It was about two people, standing under hot lights in front of a camera, falling into something that shouldn't be happening but was.

Cara's thoughts began to unravel.

She forgot the script.

She forgot the cameras.

She forgot Corey—Corey, who was probably still watching from the shadows with fists clenched and heart shattered.

Her mind screamed at her to pull back, to remember her place, to treat this as just another scene. But her body betrayed her.

She responded.

Her hands moved—hesitant at first, then instinctively reaching up to Ross's chest, fingers curling slightly into his shirt as if searching for balance, or maybe reassurance.

His hand moved to the small of her back, resting there protectively, pulling her just an inch closer.

She wasn't acting.

Not anymore.

This kiss… it wasn't planned. Not like this.

And somewhere deep inside her—past the fear, the confusion, the tight ache building in her chest—Cara felt something bloom.

Something dangerous. Something real.

But it ended as quickly as it began.

Ross pulled away, not abruptly, but with care. As if he didn't want to, but had to.

His eyes remained locked on hers. He was breathing slightly harder than before.

So was she.

Silence settled in.

Everyone on set was frozen. The camera kept rolling. No one dared to speak.

Not the director. Not the crew.

Not even Corey, whose fists were trembling at his sides off-stage, eyes wide in disbelief.