Evil MC's NTR Harem

Ross's gaze sharpened, a playful glint lighting his dark eyes.

"Be my woman, Miss Johnson. Let me show you firsthand how I treat my partners—with respect, devotion, and care. You might be surprised at what you find."

The room seemed to freeze for a moment. Lois's face tightened, disgust flashing across her features.

"You're sick. Disgusting," she spat. Rising abruptly, she fixed him with a hard glare.

"This interview is over. Thank you for your time, Mr. Oakley. And rest assured, I'll make sure the world knows exactly how twisted your mind is."

Without waiting for a response, she swept out of the room, her cameraman close behind.

Just as the door began to close, the cameraman paused and turned back, offering a deep, respectful bow toward Ross.

At least the cameraman was wise.

He was no longer young and had spent years working in the industry, hearing countless stories about Ross Oakley—stories that ranged from admiration for his incredible achievements to warnings about his volatile nature.

Over time, he had come to understand that Ross was a man unlike any other: powerful, complex, and not easily controlled or predicted.

The cameraman didn't want to see the ambitious young journalist, Lois Johnson, get herself tangled in a situation beyond her experience.

He knew firsthand how dangerous it could be to underestimate someone like Ross Oakley, whose influence and reach extended far beyond the public eye.

To be in his presence was to be part of a game with high stakes—where every misstep could come with serious consequences.

Watching Lois confront Ross with such intensity, the cameraman felt a flicker of concern.

He hoped she would learn quickly, but more importantly, he wished she would keep her wits about her.

After all, not everyone who crossed paths with Ross walked away unscathed.

"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Oakley," he said quietly, almost apologetically. "She's new to this. She'll learn."

Ross nodded silently, the echo of the closing door lingering in the suddenly quiet office.

Alone, the smile faded from his face and was replaced by a contemplative expression.

He stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sprawling city below—the life he had built, the empire he commanded.

Public opinion was a tricky beast, as fickle and unpredictable as the tides.

For every admirer, there was a critic. For every friend, a foe.

But Ross had long since stopped trying to please everyone.

His happiness wasn't found in the shallow approval of the crowd but in the deep bonds he shared with those he loved.

He knew what he was—complex, unconventional, and unapologetically himself.

And if some couldn't understand that, then that was their loss.

With a slow breath, Ross turned from the window and sank back into his chair, already planning his next move in the game of power and perception.

After all, in his world, control was everything.

Ross leaned back in his chair, a slow, knowing smile curling at the corners of his lips as the image of pretty Lois Johnson flashed in his mind.

Her stubborn eyes, that fiery tone, and the way she stormed out of his office—it all amused him far more than it should.

"It seems like I won't be bored again," he murmured to himself, a glint of mischief in his gaze.

Already, the gears in his mind turned, weaving a silent strategy.

He would break through her walls, melt that frosty defiance, and eventually make her willingly surrender to him.

For Ross Oakley, the chase was never just about winning—it was about watching pride turn into passion.

And Lois Johnson… she was going to be a challenge worth savoring.

***

Meanwhile, a different story was unfolding with Lois and her cameraman.

"What was that, Lois? Didn't I tell you to take it easy with Ross Oakley? You didn't listen!" Billy's voice rose, the frustration clear as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

His knuckles whitened as he glanced at her in disbelief.

He was usually the calm one on their assignments, but when it came to people like Ross Oakley, his patience ran thin.

This wasn't just about professionalism anymore—it was about survival.

He'd been around long enough to know that provoking the wrong man could end careers, ruin lives, or worse.

And Ross Oakley wasn't just the wrong man; he was the man you didn't cross.

Billy cared about Lois—she was talented, bold, and far too fearless for her own good—but more importantly, he cared about staying alive.

Dying prematurely for the sake of a sensational headline was not part of his retirement plan.

"Focus on the road, Billy," Lois said, crossing her arms and glaring out the window.

"I just don't like Ross—or men like him. And besides, we got our interview. This will finally show the world what a big pig he really is, not the saint everyone keeps picturing him to be."

Billy shook his head, letting out a humorless laugh.

"You really don't get it, Lois. Everyone already knows about Ross and his women. Hell, guess what? They don't care. He could have a hundred women—wives, mistresses, girlfriends, all at once—hell, even a thousand, and nobody would bat an eye. As long as he keeps building hospitals, funding scholarships, feeding the poor, and practically saving the planet, all those… let's say colorful aspects of his personal life? They'll be swept under the rug without a second thought."

Lois scoffed. "That's exactly the problem. People worship these men because they throw money at good causes, but no one ever asks where that money comes from. No one questions what kind of man he is when the cameras aren't rolling. I've seen too many like him, Billy. They hide behind charity like it's a halo, while their hands are covered in filth."

Billy's jaw tightened. "And I've seen too many reporters who went after men like him… and vanished. Careers destroyed overnight. Some of them couldn't work in the country anymore, some… well, they weren't around to tell the tale." Billy looked at Lois and the fear on his face was obvious.