Evil MC's NTR Harem

Despite the wealth, the prestige, and the picture-perfect family, something was missing.

She sighed again, folding the towel neatly before stepping toward the bedroom.

"Are you still awake, honey?" she called softly, her voice carrying a hopeful edge.

Lately, she had felt a surge of desire she hadn't experienced in years—a deep, aching longing that made her feel both alive and frustrated.

Karl had been distant lately, his duties as Secretary of Defense consuming most of his time.

She couldn't even remember the last time they had been truly intimate, and that thought alone made her chest tighten.

Still, tonight felt different. She had been holding onto the hope that Karl might surprise her, that he'd stayed awake to talk, to reconnect and make hot love.

Perhaps they could rediscover the spark that had carried them through the years.

Pushing the door open, she stepped into the dimly lit bedroom, her heels clicking softly against the polished hardwood floor.

But as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her breath hitched. The room was quiet—too quiet. The bed was unmade, the covers rumpled, but Karl wasn't in it. Instead, something else caught her attention.

A faint sound reached her ears, a rustling followed by a soft, muffled noise. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Turning her head toward the source of the sound, her eyes widened.

In the far corner of the room, illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight through the curtains, was a young man she did not know. And he wasn't alone.

Her stomach dropped as the scene before her came into focus.

There was a much larger man standing in the corner, his face obscured by a sinister demon mask. His towering figure seemed to fill the room with an oppressive darkness, his presence cold and threatening.

But what truly stopped Iris in her tracks, what made her heart stutter in her chest, was the sight of a bloodied figure slumped in the chair beside him.

A young man, his blonde hair matted with blood, was seated with his head lulled to the side, as if he were merely sleeping.

The twisted angle of his neck sent a wave of nausea rushing through Iris, but what truly shook her to her core was the realization that she knew him.

It was Derek.

Her son.

The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet as her mind tried to process the nightmare unfolding before her.

Derek, her son—the boy she had raised, the boy who had once smiled up at her with such innocence and joy—was barely recognizable in this battered state.

His once radiant features were now swollen and bruised, his face streaked with crimson.

Her heart clenched painfully in her chest as she stepped forward, her breath shallow, her legs weak beneath her.

A low gasp escaped her lips, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from Derek's motionless form.

He had always been strong, always so full of life, and yet here he was—broken, bound, and completely at the mercy of whatever nightmare had brought him here.

The masked man in the corner remained silent, watching her with an unreadable expression.

He didn't move as Iris's trembling hands reached out, instinctively wanting to go to her son, to check if he was still breathing, to find out what had happened.

"Derek," she whispered, her voice trembling as she neared him, her hand reaching toward his blood-soaked shirt. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

But Derek remained silent, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, a faint whimper escaping his lips as his eyelids fluttered but didn't open.

It took Iris only three shallow breaths to fully absorb the horrifying sight before her.

Every inch of Derek's battered body screamed of violence, of a cruel assault that no mother should ever have to witness.

His once-pristine clothes were soaked with blood, and his face—unrecognizable, swollen, bruised—was barely a shadow of the young man she had raised.

The ropes that bound him to the chair were so tight that his skin had been chafed raw.

She could see the deep indentations where the ropes cut into his wrists, the swollen skin beneath the bindings pulsating with dark bruises.

His head hung to one side at an unnatural angle, as though his body had been discarded carelessly, like a ragdoll. Discover hidden content at My Virtual Library Empire

Her chest constricted with unbearable pain.

The overwhelming wave of helplessness threatened to consume her as she rushed to him, trembling hands reaching out for the ropes, desperately trying to free her son.

She tugged, yanked, and twisted the bindings, but they didn't budge. The knots were expertly tied, so tight that the ropes might as well have been chains.

Panic clawed at her throat, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Derek! Help! Please! Call 911!" Her voice cracked with fear and desperation as she turned to the men in the room.

The masked man and the young man standing nearby said nothing, just watched her with cold indifference. Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

The urgency in her movements caused the towel wrapped around her hair to fall, and her long, rich blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, adding to the disarray of the moment.

The last piece of cloth that barely covered her body slipped from her shoulders, the fabric clinging for a moment before falling completely.

In her frantic state, her exposed skin seemed to glow in the dim light, and for a brief moment, her breasts were exposed to the men standing nearby.

But with an almost animalistic flush of shame and anger, Iris quickly pulled the towel back up, clutching it to her body as if it could shield her from the terror that was unfolding before her.

A minute passed, and her attempts were futile. The ropes were immovable, Derek's body a dead weight in the chair.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked back at him, her mind spiraling into a whirlwind of fear and confusion. She was helpless. She couldn't undo the damage.

Her eyes welled up with tears as she stopped, her body shaking uncontrollably, knowing that time was running out.

"Someone, help!" Iris screamed, tears streaming down her beautiful face.