Evil MC's NTR Harem

Ella glanced at Ross, then back at her husband. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came.

What could she say? What could anyone say to make this less surreal?

Mario tried to give her a reassuring smile. It didn't quite land.

He stepped over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder—gentle, lingering.

"Just call me if you need anything," he said, forcing the words past the tightness in his chest.

Then, without another word, he walked toward the hallway and disappeared.

They had agreed not to do it in the master bedroom—it would've been too personal, too cruel.

The guest room was neutral territory. Detached. Or so they hoped.

Thud.

The soft, final sound of the door closing echoed in the silence that followed.

And then there were two.

Ross and Ella stood alone in the softly lit guest room.

The walls were a muted beige, the lamp on the nightstand casting a golden glow over the simple bed with its folded-down white sheets.

A faint breeze stirred the curtains, but otherwise, the room was still. Almost too still.

Ross stood with his hands in his pockets, giving her space. He didn't move closer.

Not yet.

Ella turned slightly toward him, her expression unreadable.

She looked at him—not with the eyes of a wife cheating on her husband, but with the eyes of a woman standing on the edge of something she couldn't take back.

A woman trying to understand how she got here, and what it would mean if she stepped forward.

She swallowed hard. "This is… strange."

Ross nodded. "It is."

Another pause.

Ella looked down at her hands, fingers nervously curling into the hem of her cardigan. "I keep telling myself I've already made the decision. That this is what we agreed to. That I shouldn't feel guilty."

"And yet you do," Ross said softly.

She looked up at him, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face.

"I feel… everything," she whispered. "Guilt. Curiosity. Fear. Excitement. Shame. Even desire. I hate that I feel all of it at once."

Ross took a single step toward her, slow and deliberate.

"That's not wrong. You're not wrong to feel all that. You're human, Ella. This is complicated. But you're not doing anything alone here. I'm here with you. And I'll follow your lead."

She met his eyes again. This time, she didn't look away.

Her breath hitched.

"I haven't been touched by anyone but Mario in over ten years," she said, her voice trembling. "And now I'm about to…"

She couldn't even finish the sentence.

Ross stepped forward again—still not reaching for her, but closer now.

Close enough that she could feel the quiet strength in him.

His presence was grounding, steady.

"You don't have to rush anything," he murmured.

"We take it one breath at a time. If you want to stop, we stop. If you want to talk, we talk. If you just want to be held, I can hold you."

She stared at him for a moment, then exhaled—long and slow.

"Can you… hold me for a bit?" she asked quietly.

Ross nodded without hesitation and opened his arms.

Ella hesitated only a second longer before stepping into them.

She folded against his chest, trembling slightly, her cheek resting against him as his arms wrapped around her.

He held her gently, saying nothing, his warmth calming, solid.

Her hands clutched lightly at his shirt as though she were afraid she might fall apart if she let go.

They stood like that for a long moment—just breathing.

And slowly, her trembling began to fade.

Ella stepped back just enough to look up at Ross's face.

Her pulse was unsteady, her hands trembling faintly at her sides, but her thoughts were strangely focused.

In the quiet stillness of that room, she found herself revisiting the decision she had made—not just with her head, but with her heart, her body, her future.

Why Ross?

He wasn't a model, not in the traditional sense.

His features were rugged, his jaw heavy, his skin slightly weathered by years of effort and responsibility.

But it was the presence he carried that made everything else irrelevant. Ross exuded power.

He stood like a man who'd seen life, conquered it, and kept moving forward.

His broad chest, solid arms, and strong hands spoke of capability—of a man who could protect, take, and provide.

And more than that, his reputation preceded him.

Ross already had over thirty children. Thirty.

The number alone was staggering—almost unbelievable—and yet, it made him uniquely suited for what Ella and Mario had agreed to.

Ross was proven. Fertile. Virile.

Nature had clearly chosen him as one of its most reliable vessels for continuing the human race.

If there was anyone who could give her the child she and Mario so desperately wanted… it was him.

She had considered others. Quietly, secretly. But none of them felt right. Too close.

Too handsome. Too emotionally entangled.

Ross, on the other hand, had a kind of detachment that felt safe.

He had so many other responsibilities, so many other women and children to look after, that she knew he wouldn't become a threat to their marriage—not emotionally.

He wouldn't ask for shared custody or create drama.

He would simply give her what she needed and move on, as he had with all the others.

It was almost clinical.

Almost.

But now, standing here before him, breathing in his scent and feeling the quiet strength in his calm gaze, Ella felt a flicker of something more.

Not love. Not even lust—at least not yet. But a spark. A recognition.

The silent, primal acknowledgment between a man and a woman that something deeply human was about to happen between them.

She drew in a breath—deep, quiet, trembling—and whispered to herself, "I can do this."

With a soft exhale, she tiptoed forward and kissed him.

The kiss was gentle at first, unsure.

Her lips brushed against his like a whisper, barely touching.

Ross didn't move, didn't push. He allowed her the moment.

And it was that stillness, that patience, that gave her the courage to lean in more.