Evil MC's NTR Harem

"Ring!"

"Ring!"

"Ring!"

Grace's phone vibrated on the table, the screen flashing an unknown number.

She hesitated for a moment before picking it up. It could be important—perhaps something work-related or news about someone she knew.

But the moment she pressed the answer button, she regretted it.

"I hear your husband already won in life, Grace. Congratulations are in order, I suppose."

The voice on the other end was smooth, mocking, dripping with amusement. Ross.

Before she could respond, a low chuckle followed, grating against her ears like nails on a chalkboard.

"Beep!"

She ended the call without another thought, a cold irritation settling in her chest. She didn't know how Ross had gotten her number, nor did she care.

The man was like a shadow—always creeping in where he wasn't wanted, appearing when least expected. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

With a huff, she tossed the phone aside and resumed what she had been doing, determined to ignore him.

"Ring!"

"Ring!"

"Ring!"

Her phone lit up again. The same number.

Grace clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the device. She let it ring. It stopped, only for the screen to flash with another incoming call.

This time, frustration spiked through her veins like a sharp needle.

She had had enough.

Just as she was about to block the number, a notification popped up.

Ding!

A message.

Her first instinct was to delete it immediately. Nothing good ever came from Ross. Whatever game he was playing, she refused to be a part of it. And yet, despite herself, her thumb hovered over the screen.

Why was she hesitating?

She shouldn't care. She didn't care. And yet… curiosity gnawed at the edges of her mind, whispering to her, nudging her to look. It was subtle—almost imperceptible—but it was there.

A pull. A quiet, insidious compulsion.

With a sigh, she tapped the notification.

And Ross won.

Because, of course, this was his doing. Even without being present, even without saying another word, he had already influenced her. She hadn't wanted to open the message, but she had done it anyway.

That was what made him dangerous.

Manipulating people was effortless when one could bend reality itself.

"Your husband is nothing but a good old thief, Grace. He took my money, and unless you do exactly as I say, he'll be spending a long, long time in jail. If you think I'm lying, watch the video below."

Grace's breath hitched as she read the message, her fingers tightening around the phone. A strange coldness seeped into her bones, making her shiver despite the warmth of the room.

"No… no… no…"

The words barely escaped her lips, a whispered prayer, a desperate plea. But praying wouldn't change the reality before her.

Her heart pounded, each beat a deafening thud against her ribcage. Her palms grew damp, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the screen. She didn't want to see it. She didn't want to know.

But she had to.

With a deep breath, she tapped the video.

The screen flickered to life.

At first, there was only static, the distorted sound of rustling fabric, then—there he was. Ted. Her husband.

The footage was grainy but clear enough to expose the damning truth. He stood in a dimly lit room, his face partially obscured, his hands rifling through wads of cash before stuffing them into a duffel bag.

The timestamp in the corner confirmed it—this wasn't old, this wasn't fabricated. This was real.

Her fingers went numb.

She watched as the camera angle shifted, catching Ted's panicked expression, the frantic way he moved, as if he knew he was doing something unforgivable.

She barely noticed the way her breathing became ragged, the way her chest tightened as she struggled to hold back a sob.

The video ended.

For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the dark screen, unable to move. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, disbelief, and a suffocating sense of betrayal.

How could Ted do this?

How could he be so stupid?

The dam inside her broke. Tears spilled from her eyes, hot and fast, streaking down her cheeks. She pressed a hand to her mouth, muffling the anguished sound that threatened to escape.

Ding!

A new message.

Her stomach twisted as she forced herself to look.

"The money is in the far side of the basement, under the locked cabinet on the left. You know where the keys are kept, so you can check for yourself if you want."

Ross.

The name itself felt like a curse, a dark shadow looming over her, suffocating and inescapable.

For a moment, she considered ignoring it. Deleting the message, blocking the number, pretending none of this had ever happened.

But she couldn't.

Her body moved on its own, driven by something primal—a need for truth, for confirmation.

She rose to her feet, her legs feeling weak beneath her. Each step toward the basement felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of what she was about to discover pressed down on her.

Her fingers shook as she grabbed the keys. She nearly dropped them, her vision blurred by fresh tears, but she forced herself to keep going.

She knelt in front of the cabinet, her breath hitching as she inserted the key. The lock clicked open.

And there it was.

Stacks of cash. Neatly packed, untouched. As if waiting for her to find them.

Her throat tightened, her hands gripping the edge of the cabinet as silent sobs wracked her body.

This was real. It was all real.

Her husband, the man she had trusted, the man she had built a life with—had stolen from him.

And now, Ross held all the power.

Grace wiped at her tear-streaked face, her mind spiraling. What was she supposed to do? If she turned Ted in, he would go to jail. If she tried to run, Ross would find them. There was no way out.

No way out except one.

Her fingers moved over her phone, typing out the only question that mattered now.

"What do you want?"

She hit send.

The response came almost immediately.

Ding!

"You know exactly what I want, Grace. I told you before this month was over, you would be mine, didn't I? Let's meet up this weekend. And as for the money—consider it a gift. You and your husband can keep it. In my opinion, you're worth every dollar sitting in that basement."

Her breath caught.

She read the message once, twice, three times, as if somehow the words would change. But they didn't.

Her fingers trembled, her body frozen in place.

Ross had already decided her fate. And deep down, she knew—this was only the beginning of hell in her life.

***

"Are you okay, love?" Ted asked, his voice laced with concern.

He had been rambling for a while now, but Grace barely registered his words. She sat across from him at the dinner table, her plate half-empty, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her wine glass.

Her gaze was unfocused, fixed on a distant point beyond him. It wasn't intentional—she simply couldn't concentrate.

Her thoughts swirled like a storm, crashing over each other in an endless cycle of fear and uncertainty.

Ted shifted in his seat, watching her carefully. She was never this quiet. Usually, she had something to say, an opinion to offer, a sharp remark to throw his way.

But tonight, she was somewhere else, lost in the depths of her own mind.

"Ah… yes… of course," Grace replied after a moment, forcing a small smile. "I was just thinking about a particular client of ours."

It was a lie. A weak one at that.

Grace was the manager of a company that provided care for people with disabilities, a job she loved with all her heart. Every day, she found purpose in helping others, in making lives better.

It gave her a sense of control, of meaning. But tonight, that fulfillment felt so far away—overshadowed by the weight of what she had uncovered, the mess Ted had dragged them into, and the impossible price Ross had set.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of Ross.

Ted seemed satisfied with her answer, or perhaps he simply chose to believe it. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I see. Just don't overwork yourself, love. If you want, you can quit. We've got more than enough money now to last us ten lifetimes over. In fact, I've been thinking…" He smiled, his voice tinged with excitement. "Maybe we should move to a bigger house. A gated commu—"

He kept talking, his words blending together, spilling out in an endless stream of plans and possibilities. Dream homes. Financial security. A future wrapped in luxury and comfort.

Grace wasn't listening.

Her mind was elsewhere, trapped in the suffocating grip of what was to come.

The weekend was approaching fast, and with each passing second, the dread in her chest grew heavier, colder, like a stone sinking to the bottom of a dark, endless ocean.

She had never feared anything more in her life.