Evil MC's NTR Harem

A heavy silence fell over the car.

The city lights blurred past, but the weight of his words hung between them like a storm cloud. Lois shifted in her seat, refusing to meet his gaze.

Billy glanced at her again, this time softer. "Lois, this isn't just a story. It's Ross Oakley. He's got influence that reaches farther than you can imagine—politicians, police, billionaires. Even people in our own network."

"I'm not afraid of him," Lois said quietly, though the firmness in her tone was laced with something else—something personal.

Billy noticed. "This isn't just about journalism for you, is it?"

Lois stayed silent a beat too long before answering.

"No. Of course it is. I just don't like how millions of people are practically kissing the ground Ross Oakley walks on. He's not a saint, and I'm going to expose him for what he truly is. A big bad wolf in sheep's clothing."

That was all she gave him—yet it was more than enough to make Billy's stomach sink.

A cold heaviness settled in his gut, because deep down, he knew the truth.

Ross Oakley wasn't the kind of man you challenged… and lived to tell the tale.

***

One week passed in a blur, and Monday arrived before Lois knew it.

She strolled into the office, coffee in hand, expecting the usual start-of-the-week drudgery—half-asleep coworkers, last-minute script edits, the occasional grumble about deadlines.

But today… was different.

The air practically crackled with tension. People were huddled in small clusters, whispering fiercely, eyes darting toward the TV screens on the walls.

Some clutched their phones like lifelines, scrolling for updates.

The atmosphere was so thick with unease that Lois slowed her steps.

"What's going on?" she asked a nearby colleague, her frown deepening.

It wasn't often the newsroom looked like someone had just announced the end of the world.

"You're late—and it's big," the woman replied, leaning forward as if afraid to say it too loudly. "Someone bought out the entire network."

Lois blinked. "Bought out… what? Our network?"

"Yeah. As of this morning, the ink's already dry." The colleague hesitated for a beat before adding, "It's Ross Oakley."

The name landed like a stone in Lois's stomach. "Ross… Oakley?" she repeated, almost hoping she'd misheard.

"He's expanding into news media," the colleague continued. "Apparently, this is just one of several networks he's acquired. We're part of his portfolio now."

Lois's hand tightened around her coffee cup until she nearly crushed it.

Her mind whirled, replaying the interview, the heated words, the smug curve of Ross's smile.

This wasn't just business.

This felt personal—like a chess move made solely to remind her who controlled the board.

Around her, the newsroom buzzed with speculation, excitement, even admiration for their new, impossibly wealthy owner.

But Lois barely heard any of it.

The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet, a slow, dizzying realization sinking in.

Ross Oakley wasn't just in her story anymore. He owned it.

Lois didn't leave the office that day.

She stayed long after most people had clocked out, nursing a cup of coffee she didn't even like just to give herself an excuse to linger.

Her desk sat near the glass wall, and every so often she caught glimpses of shadows moving in the executive wing—Ross Oakley's territory now.

She'd seen him earlier in the conference room, flanked by high-ranking board members, his presence pulling everyone's attention like gravity.

Even from across the hall, he seemed in control of the air itself.

No wonder people followed him. No wonder so many were too afraid to stand in his way.

Three o'clock came, and with it, the doors to the conference room opened.

The last batch of executives spilled out, laughter and handshakes all around, grins plastered on their faces like they'd just been promised a future paved in gold.

Whatever Ross had told them, they believed it—and they were thrilled about it.

Lois waited until the hallway was clear before stepping in.

Her heels clicked against the polished floor with sharp precision, each step a deliberate act of defiance.

Ross was exactly as she remembered him—leaning back in a leather chair as if the entire room belonged to him, exuding an unshakable calm that bordered on arrogance.

The faintest smirk tugged at his lips when he saw her, as though her arrival was the final move in a game he'd been orchestrating all along.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice carrying that lazy confidence that made people lean in just to catch every word.

"Miss Johnson. What a surprise, seeing you again so soon." His gaze moved—slowly, unapologetically—from her eyes down the curve of her figure, lingering just long enough to make her pulse spike.

"And I must say… you've only grown more beautiful with time."

"Cut the crap, Mr. Oakley." Lois didn't bother with pleasantries. She didn't sit, didn't even blink. "Did you do this because of me? You couldn't take losing to me in a spar of words, so you just bought the company I work for?"

Ross's smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement.

"Right on the mark," he said without hesitation, as if her accusation were a compliment. "And what's wrong with that?"

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, the predator in him fully awake now.

"In fact," he continued, voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone, "I'll make you an offer. How does a hundred thousand dollars a month sound? Too little? Name your price, and I'll double it."

The words hung between them, thick with implication.

It wasn't just a job offer—it was a challenge. A line in the sand.

"And in exchange, what do you want?" Lois's tone was cold enough to frost glass. Her gaze didn't waver.

"You want me to sleep with you, is that it?" The words came out steady, but her pulse quickened.

In her experience, men like Ross Oakley never handed out generosity without expecting something in return—and that something was usually expensive, degrading, or both.