Evil MC's NTR Harem

Although countless people were scheming behind closed doors, trying to bring Ross down or simply learn more about him, actually reaching him was another matter entirely.

It wasn't just difficult—it was near impossible. With an entire nation subtly bent to his will, Ross had constructed an invisible wall of power and influence.

Every major airport, every intelligence agency, and every critical point of entry was either directly or indirectly under his watch.

Even a rat, if it hoped to approach him, would need to buy a permit and pass a dozen checkpoints.

Behind their high walls and long tables, the world's superpowers—China, Russia, the United Kingdom, Germany, and more—watched him with deep interest.

Their agencies filed weekly reports, their analysts worked overtime, and their diplomats spoke in veiled tones, trying to figure out how one man had risen so far, so fast, with so little accountability.

They wanted answers. But Ross remained silent. Aloof. Untouchable.

He didn't fear them. He simply didn't care. If the global powers thought they could infiltrate his world easily, they were sorely mistaken. He didn't play their game. He wrote the rules now.

The year 2036 passed by smoothly, like a perfectly directed film—one where Ross was both the protagonist and the puppeteer. His businesses expanded. His influence grew.

His enemies either faded into irrelevance or were absorbed and disarmed without so much as a headline.

He thought, perhaps, he might produce another blockbuster movie this year—not for the money, but for the thrill of creation. Something to shake things up.

And then, in the middle of an ordinary afternoon, he saw her.

It wasn't dramatic. There was no slow motion, no musical swell. She simply walked past him—head held high, eyes shining with something unmistakable. Fire. Confidence. Mystery.

Something about her stopped him cold.

For the first time in a long while, Ross felt a tingle of surprise, a ripple in the waters of his carefully controlled world. He watched her, his gaze lingering far longer than usual. He didn't know her name.

Not yet. But he would.

And then, for the first time in months, he smiled.

An excited smile.

The world may have kept moving, but in that moment, Ross knew one thing for certain—his story was about to take a new turn.

Ross merely extended his divine sense—and in an instant, he knew everything about her. Her name, her background, her habits, even the subtle way she moved when she thought no one was watching.

It was all laid bare before him like an open book. But instead of acting immediately, he savored the moment.

He began to plot.

There was a thrill in the chase, a satisfaction in designing the perfect plan. He relished this part more than anything—the careful orchestration, the silent maneuvering, the anticipation of the inevitable outcome.

She was unlike the others. There was a spark in her, something untamed. And that only made her more desirable.

"Ohhh… I'm going to enjoy hunting this beautiful prey," Ross murmured with a low chuckle, his voice dripping with amusement.

Without hesitation, he moved to follow her. Not like a desperate man chasing a dream—but like a predator stalking its mark. Calculated. Silent. Inevitable.

The lovely woman stepped into the train just as rush hour surged. The platform had been overflowing, but the inside of the train was no better.

Every seat was taken, every inch of standing room filled with tired eyes, wrinkled suits, and the hum of city life winding down.

She pushed in gently, weaving through the crowd until she found a spot near the center of the car. Her beauty stood out like a spark in a gray world—poised, graceful, utterly unaware of the silent storm orbiting her.

Ross followed without hesitation, slipping in through the next car and watching her from just a few meters away. He didn't need to be close. Not physically.

Not when his divine sense could feel her heartbeat, trace the rhythm of her breathing, and touch the very thoughts flickering in her mind. She was everything he expected—and more.

That was when he decided to act.

The conditions were perfect. The crowd, the noise, the close proximity—it was the ideal setting for a moment that would seem spontaneous and heroic, yet was anything but.

Ross began to scan the passengers, his attention drifting from one soul to another until he found what he was looking for.

A man stood near the exit doors, slouched in a tattered hoodie, his eyes shifting with unnatural alertness. On the surface, he looked like any other tired commuter.

But beneath the mask was something far darker. Ross's divine sense pierced into his soul and unearthed the truth.

A predator.

A serial rapist, still uncaught after years of violence.

He'd stalked alleys and nightclubs, university campuses and bus stops. He had left behind broken women and cold cases, and yet somehow remained invisible to the justice system.

But he could not hide from Ross.

And today, fate had finally caught up with him.

Ross smirked. How convenient.

He reached out with his will—smooth, silent, and absolute. The man's consciousness flickered like a candle in the wind before it was smothered.

His eyes dulled, and he turned, now nothing more than a puppet with Ross holding the strings.

Controlled by an unseen hand, the man moved forward. Slowly. Deliberately.

He slid into the crowd behind the woman and, with a lewd, repulsive smirk that was no longer his own, reached out to grope her.

She flinched violently and screamed, the sound sharp and cutting through the noise of the train.

In an instant, all eyes turned.

And Ross stepped in.

His voice rang out like a thunderclap. "You fucking scum!"

Without waiting, he lunged forward and delivered a brutal punch straight to the man's face. The crack of bone echoed, and the man collapsed to the floor, unconscious and bleeding.

People gasped, some backed away, others reached for their phones, recording what they believed was the capture of a public menace.

"I saw what he did," one man said. "That guy's been touching people for weeks! I've seen him before!"

Within minutes, the police were alerted.

It took nearly an hour for them to arrive and process the scene, but by then Ross had already made sure everything pointed to the truth.

The officers found the man's phone, and what they uncovered was worse than anyone expected—hundreds of disturbing photos, videos, and text logs that told the story of a monster hiding in plain sight.

He had documented his crimes in chilling detail. There was no room for doubt now.

The serial rapist would be locked away for life.

But Ross didn't stick around for applause. He had already started to walk away when he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve.

It was her.

"Wait… I just wanted to say thank you," she said softly, eyes wide with both fear and admiration. "I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there."

Ross paused, then turned to face her. Up close, she was even more captivating—soft brown eyes, a hint of strength in her posture, and the lingering tremble of someone who had just seen the worst of humanity.

He smiled, not his usual cold smile, but something softer. Playful.

"I don't usually accept thank-yous," he said with a casual shrug. "But… I do love a good cup of coffee. How about this weekend?"