Evil MC's NTR Harem

Next week would be grim—strict rations, fewer privileges, and more grueling tasks as punishment.

All because they couldn't pull it together.

And through it all, Ross sat in the back corner, arms crossed, watching quietly.

He hadn't said a single word the entire screening. Not a comment. Not a joke.

Not a sneer.

But his silence spoke volumes.

Those who knew him—especially his women—could see it in his eyes.

He'd been right.

They had ignored him, brushed aside his offer, gave him a throwaway role, and now they were paying the price.

Cara, seated near the middle of the group, didn't dare turn around, but she could feel Ross's gaze on the back of her neck.

It burned.

The tension in the room was thick—cloying, almost physical. Everyone felt it.

It wasn't just the weight of disappointment or the sting of a failed project—it was the suffocating awareness that they had run out of time, options, and, worst of all, hope.

Their eyes lingered on the black screen, the echo of the film's final scene still haunting the silence.

That mess of a movie was going to be shown tomorrow, in front of the house boss and the cameras.

And they all knew what came after that: failure, public humiliation, and the loss of their weekly privileges.

No food rewards. No extra supplies. Maybe even cleaning duty.

Some were already slumping back into the couch cushions, defeated.

Others fiddled with their fingers, trying to distract themselves from the reality they couldn't ignore.

Then Ross stood.

At first, no one reacted.

But the sound of his deliberate, measured steps—just three of them—echoed loud in the quiet space.

The subtle shift in the air was enough. One by one, heads turned.

Ross didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

"So," he said, voice calm, deep, and razor-sharp, "are you all seriously just going to sit here and wait for failure? Or are you finally ready to try it my way?"

Silence followed, stretched taut like a wire.

A few exchanged uneasy glances. Cara sat up straighter.

Even the camera crew, who had been packing up their gear at the side, paused to watch.

Trevor was the first to speak, rubbing his temples, tired eyes glancing at the wall clock.

"Even if you say that, D… we don't have the time or energy to restart everything now. It's already eight. We've got what, maybe less than a day until the screening? Maybe less. And that's assuming we work all night."

Ross didn't flinch. His arms remained crossed, his presence immovable—like a storm brewing in the center of the room.

"So what?" he replied coolly. "But if you're already giving up—fine. You all can sit here and wallow in it. Accept your failure. Watch your names get dragged on tomorrow's broadcast. But me? I'll go talk to the house boss myself. I'll start over. I'll do the whole damn thing without you, if I have to."

He paused, then added with a dangerous calmness, "I won't let my women starve because the rest of you don't have the spine to push through."

The room stilled completely. Ross's words cut deep.

Everyone knew what the weekly punishments were like.

They'd not yet experienced the miserable meal rations and the endless hungry hours before.

No one wanted to go through that ever.

But could they really pull something off overnight?

And more than that—was Ross serious?

The answer was obvious. Just look at him.

He didn't look anxious. He didn't sound uncertain. He meant every word.

Ross had always stood out. Whether they liked him or not, everyone in the house knew he had something different.

Charisma? Arrogance? Power? Whatever it was, it made him impossible to ignore.

"I have four actresses ready," Ross continued, now pacing slowly across the room.

"I have a script idea in my head that's better than the garbage we just watched. We'll film through the night. Tight scenes, strong emotion, striking visuals. No unnecessary drama. Just quality."

He stopped and looked directly at Corey.

"You don't want to be remembered for that mess we just watched, do you?"

Corey opened his mouth to speak—but nothing came out.

Ross shifted his gaze to the rest.

"You all saw it. You all know how bad it was. And deep down, you know I'm right. You don't need the whole group to make a great film. You just need someone who knows what the fuck they're doing."

His voice dropped, sharp and final.

"This is your last chance. Follow me now—or sit back and watch me win without you."

The room held its breath.

Some lowered their eyes, ashamed.

Others looked conflicted, caught between pride and desperation.

A few seemed like they were already swaying.

The weight of hunger, humiliation, and failure was pressing down hard—and Ross had just handed them a lifeline, whether they liked him or not.

Cara, seated off to the side, looked up at him with a mixture of awe and anticipation.

She'd seen Ross like this before—composed, commanding, completely in control.

"I'm in. I like eating full meals," someone said, raising their hand with a half-hearted smile.

"Same. I'd rather film all night than starve next week."

"Count me in too. Let's give it a shot."

"Yeah… let's at least try."

One by one, the house contestants caved.

The idea of another week scraping by on instant noodles and stale rice was enough to override pride, fatigue, or hesitation.

They may have failed under Corey and Seth's direction, but Ross exuded something different—an unnerving certainty, the kind that made you believe he could actually pull it off.

Even the hesitant ones eventually nodded.

The room, which had been drowning in hopeless silence only minutes ago, now buzzed with reluctant resolve.

All except Corey.

He sat stiffly, jaw tight, hands balled into fists on his knees.

He had been the first to step up when this week's task was announced, had taken on the burden of organizing everyone, directing scenes with Seth, managing egos.

It was a great slap to the face to know that he failed in the end.