Evil MC's NTR Harem

There was no need for flashy jewelry or excessive embellishments; her beauty spoke for itself.

Every movement she made, every glance she cast, carried an effortless grace that set her apart from the rest.

She radiated class, elegance, and an untouchable aura that made her all the more desirable. Ross wasn't the only one who noticed.

Nearly every man in the room had his eyes on her, drawn to her presence like moths to a flame.

But unlike them, Ross didn't just want to admire her from afar. No, she had already caught his attention—and that meant she was already his.

"Perfect," Ross murmured, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he set his sights on the woman.

Without hesitation, he moved toward her, his steps confident, unhurried, yet undeniably sexy.

It was curious—almost unnatural—how no one seemed to notice.

The room was filled with people, chatter and laughter humming in the background, yet in that moment, it was as if he and the woman were the only two who existed.

The crowd blurred into insignificance, mere shadows to the spectacle unfolding.

Seated at her table, the woman was unaware of his approach at first.

She held herself with quiet elegance, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her untouched wine glass.

But as Ross neared, a strange tension filled the air, as if she could sense his presence before she even laid eyes on him.

And when she finally did look up, her poised demeanor wavered for the briefest second.

"May I have this dance?" Ross asked smoothly, his voice rich with confidence, his posture the picture of a refined gentleman.

A flicker of panic crossed her features before she quickly masked it with a polite, unreadable expression. But Ross caught it. He always did.

She glanced around, as if hoping for some intervention, but none came.

There was no doubt she recognized him. How could she not?

His face was plastered across news outlets and financial reports, his name whispered in every elite circle.

He was a man of untouchable power, a force that dictated the rise and fall of industries. More than that, he was her husband's boss.

"I don't know how t—" she began, her voice soft, hesitant. A weak attempt at refusal. A lie.

Ross didn't let her finish.

"I don't take no for an answer, Grace." His voice was low, firm, leaving no room for argument.

Before she could protest, he reached for her hand, his grip neither forceful nor gentle, but absolute.

A silent command. He pulled her to her feet effortlessly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and just like that, she was his.

Her breath hitched, but her body moved with him, helpless against his lead as he guided her to the center of the dance floor.

The moment their hands met, the world around them faded further into obscurity.

The music swelled, a slow, haunting melody that wrapped around them like silk.

Ross held her close, one hand at her waist, the other guiding hers with practiced ease.

He moved with effortless grace, and despite herself, she followed.

There was hesitance in her movements at first, the stiffness of someone caught off guard, but Ross was patient.

He led with unwavering control, his touch firm, unrelenting.

It was a dance, yes—but it was also something more. A declaration. A claim.

She belonged to him now. Even if she didn't know it yet.

"Come to me tonight. I have a surprise for you." Ross's voice was smooth, low, yet firm—an invitation wrapped in command.

He had no interest in wasting time with coy games when he could simply take what he wanted.

Grace stiffened in his arms, her body tensing at his words.

She looked up at him, eyes wide with defiance, though the flicker of unease beneath her anger did not escape him.

"I'm married, Mr. Oakley. Please let me go." Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled slightly where they rested against his shoulder.

She tried to step away, but Ross's grip didn't waver.

His hands, strong and unrelenting, held her in place, guiding her effortlessly across the dance floor as if her resistance was nothing more than a fleeting thought.

"You say that as if it matters." Ross chuckled, tilting his head slightly as he gazed down at her.

"A married woman only makes it more enticing, doesn't it, Grace?"

Disgust flashed in her eyes, her lips parting in shock before curling into a snarl.

"You're vile," she spat. "A despicable man. You act like some saint, but you're nothing more than a twisted bastard. You make me sick, Ross Oakley."

Anger painted her face in vivid color, her chest rising and falling with barely contained fury.

But to Ross, she had never looked more beautiful. That fire, that passion—it was intoxicating.

The more she pushed him away, the more he wanted to close the distance.

"I'm merely a man who takes what he wants." His voice was calm, deliberate, as if he were stating an undeniable fact.

His grip on her waist tightened just enough for her to feel the possessiveness in his touch.

"And I tell you now, before this month is over, you will be mine, Grace. I promise you that."

Her breath caught in her throat, her fingers digging into his shoulder as if trying to ground herself.

Panic flickered in her expression, but she refused to back down.

Before she could muster another protest, Ross leaned in. Slow, deliberate.

His lips brushed against her cheek—not rushed or forceful, but a mark nonetheless.

The scent of her skin, the warmth of her body—he took his time, savoring it.

Grace sucked in a sharp breath, her entire body going rigid. And then, just as smoothly as he had pulled her in, Ross let her go.

She stumbled back a step, disoriented, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

But before she could recover, before she could demand an explanation or hurl another insult, Ross was already walking away, his confidence unshaken.

From start to finish, not a single person in the crowded room had noticed a thing.

To the outside world, it was just another dance. But to Ross, it was a promise.

And to Grace, it was the beginning of the inevitable.