Evil MC's NTR Harem

The night ended not with laughter or conversation, but with the sound of collective stomachs grumbling in quiet frustration.

Though everyone had eaten earlier, their thoughts were haunted by the tantalizing aroma of Ross's mysterious meal.

No one had dared ask him for even a taste—not after the way they had treated him during dinner.

Too proud. Too afraid.

And so, one by one, the housemates retreated to their rooms, defeated not by a challenge, but by a scent.

They lay in their beds, eyes staring at the ceiling, minds spinning with guesses and imaginations.

Was it steak? Braised pork? Some kind of curry?

Whatever it was, it smelled like heaven.

Some even dreamed about it. One girl murmured in her sleep, "Just one bite…" Another turned over and sighed deeply, her stomach growling in sync.

It was ridiculous—and yet none of them could deny it. Ross had gotten under their skin… and into their heads.

When morning came, a few housemates woke up hungry, despite having eaten the night before.

It was like their bodies had been waiting for his food.

Meanwhile, the weekly challenge continued without incident.

Though tensions still lingered, the group managed to stay organized.

They had agreed on a rotation system—one person would stand inside the circle for an hour while another kept watch, talking with them and making sure they didn't drift off or accidentally step out.

The buddy system worked surprisingly well.

It created small moments of camaraderie in the dark, and gave people a chance to bond over shared determination.

No one wanted to be the one who failed the task—not on the very first week.

"It's not that hard," one boy yawned as he watched the clock tick down. "An hour's nothing if someone's there to talk with you."

"Yeah, but wait until it's 3 AM and you're cold and tired," the other replied, sipping tea.

Still, despite the discomfort, everyone pulled their weight.

The house boss—or whoever the mysterious voice belonged to—seemed to be easing them into the competition.

The first weekly task wasn't cruel. Just a test of consistency, cooperation, and willpower.

And as the house quietly pushed through the night, one thought kept returning to them—lingering like the scent that had invaded their dreams:

What else is Ross hiding?

***

Morning arrived with golden light streaming into the house, casting long shadows across the patio.

As part of their routine, the boys gathered in the backyard to begin their daily workouts—stretching, lifting, doing push-ups and light sparring to get the blood flowing.

Some of the girls joined in as well, eager to stay active or simply to enjoy the morning energy.

It wasn't long before attention shifted—not to the exercises themselves, but to the people doing them.

Shirtless torsos, tight sportswear, and perfectly toned bodies quickly became the center of focus.

Among them, a few stood out more than the others—Corey with his clean-cut face and chiseled abs, and several of the five standout beauties, whose slim waists, radiant skin, and flirty energy had the boys subtly competing for their attention.

Flirtatious banter started to bubble beneath the surface.

"So, uh… you work out every morning too?" one guy asked hopefully, flashing a smile at the girl beside him.

"I do now," she said with a wink, giggling as she picked up her pace.

It was all textbook reality TV.

The soft beginnings of showmances—the hook that reeled viewers in.

Flirtation, budding romances, and the inevitable jealousy and conflict to come… all of it was exactly what the audience loved.

It was a careful dance of attraction, rivalry, and strategy.

Then Ross stepped out.

Wearing nothing but black workout shorts and a sleeveless shirt, he strode onto the patio like he didn't even notice the others.

The entire yard fell silent for a moment.

"Damn…"

Someone muttered it under their breath, but everyone heard it.

Ross's body was a sculpted marvel—massive and defined, with muscles that looked carved from stone.

His shoulders were broad, arms thick with muscle and veins, and his core was tight, powerful, and practically glowing under the morning sun.

Every movement he made flexed another group of muscles. He looked like a warrior from an ancient myth, more carved statue than man.

One of the girls, who had been casually stretching, suddenly forgot what she was doing. "Is that… real?"

Another whispered, "He's built like a tank. Look at those arms—holy hell."

Even some of the guys paused mid-rep, their confidence wobbling.

Corey, who had been used to being the top male eye candy, glanced over at Ross with a clenched jaw.

"Show-off," he muttered, but even he couldn't deny the sheer physical presence Ross commanded.

The women, however, were less restrained in their reaction.

Their eyes roamed, breaths catching involuntarily.

They tried not to stare—but their bodies betrayed them.

A flush of heat climbed up necks. Lips parted. Throats dried.

It wasn't just the physique—it was the energy Ross gave off. Quiet, focused, self-assured.

He didn't preen. He didn't flex or pose like the others.

He simply existed, and that alone shifted the air.

Unreal.

That was the word that stuck in everyone's mind.

He began his own warm-up with slow, precise movements—stretching, shadowboxing, and doing push-ups at an unhurried pace.

Every muscle moved like it was forged for one purpose: dominance.

And once again, without saying a single word, Ross had captured the attention of the entire house.

Breakfast came, and once again, Ross was excluded.

Just like the night before, the rest of the housemates divided the food amongst themselves, deliberately leaving him out of it.

There were no invitations, no gestures of kindness—only sidelong glances and quiet snickers as they made sure every plate was accounted for, leaving Ross with nothing.

But if they thought that would bother him, they were mistaken.

Ross didn't say a word.

He simply turned on his heel, walked into the kitchen, and began cooking.

It was like watching a master at work. Within minutes, the air was filled with the rich, mouthwatering scent of sizzling garlic, butter, and herbs.

Then came something sweet—fruit, maybe cinnamon—and then something savory and smoky.

The entire house was pulled into that aroma against their will.

Again.

As the others sat down outside with their scrambled eggs and toast, their heads slowly turned back toward the source of that divine smell.

"Seriously, what the hell is he making this time?" one girl murmured, already regretting the dry toast in her mouth.

No one had the courage to ask. Not yet. They were too proud. Or too ashamed.

Meanwhile, Ross plated his food and walked calmly to a small table by the edge of the garden patio.

He sat down, his massive frame relaxed, a smirk playing at his lips as he set his breakfast in front of him.

It looked like something off a gourmet magazine cover—colorful, neatly plated, steaming and fresh.

He picked up his fork, ready to take the first bite—

When suddenly, the chair opposite him scraped back.

Someone sat down.

Ross blinked once, surprised. Then a smile curled at the corner of his mouth as he looked up.

There she was.