Evil MC's NTR Harem

"There are people we do not touch. I gave you a list—names you were to never cross, never provoke. And Ross Oakley… was at the very top."

Kenny's bloodshot eyes blinked, his breath ragged.

His father's tone grew harsher, the restraint in his voice cracking.

"You arrogant fool," Don Carlo spat. "That man is not human—he's a monster. If he wanted, he wouldn't just kill you, he'd burn our family to ash and dance on the embers. He'd gut our businesses, slaughter our allies, and eat us alive if it amused him. And the worst part?" His lip curled in disgust.

"There's nothing—nothing—we could do to stop him."

From the shadowed corner of the room, three men stood in silence.

All of them bore the same sharp features as Kenny and their father, tall, handsome, and well-dressed, but not daring to move or speak.

The Don turned his piercing gaze on them.

"Look closely, you fools," he barked, gesturing toward Kenny's mangled form.

"This—" he jabbed a finger in Kenny's direction, "—is what happens when you break my rules. This is what happens when you think your pride is worth more than my orders."

The three sons swallowed hard, their throats bobbing in unison, fear flickering in their eyes.

"Continue," the Don commanded to the men holding the whip.

"Let my foolish son taste the kind of pain he's earned. But don't kill him quickly. No—make it last. Three days. I want him to suffer for three days before you end it. Then… give his head to Ross Oakley. Personally."

The room was silent save for Kenny's labored breathing.

The Don shook his head slowly, his disappointment far heavier than his anger.

He had tolerated Kenny's endless sins for years—covering up his violence, his theft, even that night when Kenny had kidnapped and raped three sisters in one go, paying off officials and silencing witnesses to keep his son free.

But this… this was different. Ross Oakley was not a man one could offend and live.

The Don knew that even the smallest insult could invite a wrath that would erase their entire bloodline.

And for that, a son's blood was a cheap price to pay.

He turned toward the door, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for himself.

"If my other sons are smart, they'll learn from this. If not… well—" a faint smirk crossed his face, "—I can always make more."

With that, he left the room, his polished shoes echoing down the hall.

Moments later, he was reclining in the silk sheets of his bed, drifting to sleep with the ease of a man untroubled by the loss of a single child.

Outside, in the darkened chamber, the sound of the whip resumed.

Pak.

Pak.

Pak.

Each strike tearing into Kenny's flesh, each cry swallowed by the cold walls of the Don's home.

***

Nine months later, Ella gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

The child's cry filled the hospital room, and Mario's heart swelled with joy.

He held his son for the first time, his hands trembling as if the tiny weight in his arms might shatter if he wasn't careful.

He promised silently—right there—that he would give this boy everything he never had.

In the following weeks, Mario was the picture of a devoted father.

He worked tirelessly to provide, rushing home after every shift to change diapers, prepare bottles, and rock the child to sleep.

His free time was spent browsing baby stores, bringing home bags of gifts—plush toys, soft blankets, and enough clothes to fill a closet.

He cherished every small moment, from the baby's first smile to the way his tiny fingers curled around his own.

But Ella was changing.

At first, she stayed home, recovering from childbirth.

They would share quiet evenings together—Mario feeding the baby while Ella rested.

Yet, barely three months later, the excuses began.

She claimed she needed to visit friends, run errands, or clear her head.

At first, Mario believed her.

But the absences grew longer, the reasons vaguer, until she stopped making excuses altogether.

He noticed the pattern. The way she would dress up before leaving.

The faint trace of perfume in the air after she walked past him.

And the way her phone would light up with messages that made her eyes brighten in a way they never did when she looked at him.

Mario didn't have to ask where she was going—he already knew.

Ross's name hung in the back of his mind like a shadow he could never outrun.

Soon, Ella was spending most of her days and nights at Ross's luxurious home, surrounded by his harem.

She still returned home briefly to breastfeed the baby, cradling him gently, but even that felt mechanical—an obligation rather than an act of love.

Once she was done, she would vanish again, leaving Mario alone in the silent house.

One evening, he stood at the window, watching the familiar sight of her car reversing out of the driveway.

The headlights cut across the street before disappearing into the distance. He didn't wave.

He didn't call out. He just stood there, gripping the curtain so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"What have I done?" The words slipped out of his mouth, almost inaudible, but heavy enough to crush him.

This wasn't the life he had envisioned when he asked Ross for help.

Back then, he thought it would be temporary, a sacrifice he could endure for the sake of his marriage and family.

But now, the truth was clear—there was no going back.

His wife was no longer his.

She belonged to Ross, not in name but in everything that mattered.

Her body, her affection, her desire—they were all claimed.

She was addicted, lost in the pull of Ross's presence and the intoxicating hold he had over her.

Mario swallowed hard, his eyes burning, a hollow ache settling into his chest.

He thought of all the times he had seen her laugh for Ross, the way her smile lit up for him, the way her eyes softened when she looked at that man.

He had never seen that look directed at himself.

It was a cruel reality, one that tore at the edges of his sanity.

He realized, with a cold certainty, that it would be easier to survive in the vacuum of space without any gear than to ever change this fact.

And as he stood alone in the dim light of the living room, holding his son in his arms, Mario understood—Ross hadn't just taken his wife.

He had taken her heart, her loyalty, and the part of her soul that once belonged to him.

And there was nothing left for Mario to reclaim.