Evil MC's NTR Harem-Chapter 567 - Stranger

A sharp jolt of something—shock, arousal, maybe even fear—coursed through Cate's body.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as she stared at Althea, struggling to reconcile the woman in front of her with the woman she had known on set.

Althea was supposed to be sweet.

Soft-spoken. Gentle.

The kind of woman who never raised her voice, never said anything crude or vulgar. On set, she was practically angelic—her image so carefully curated that people believed she was pure, untouchable.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

But this Althea?

This Althea was something else entirely.

Cate parted her lips, but the words refused to come.

"I…" she started, but she didn't know how to finish.

Althea just smiled, as if she had expected Cate's reaction. As if she knew exactly how much this moment was unraveling her.

Ross, still silent, still composed, glanced at Cate through the rearview mirror, his gaze unreadable yet heavy with something that made her breath grow shallow.

Cate's heart pounded, her mind at war with itself.

She had made her choice the moment she stepped into this car.

There was no turning back now.

More than twenty minutes later, they arrived at Ross's mansion.

The massive estate loomed in the darkness, its towering silhouette framed by the soft glow of strategically placed lights that lined the driveway.

The mansion itself was a statement of wealth—marble pillars, vast windows, and an entrance grand enough to rival the finest hotels.

It was the kind of place that left visitors breathless, but for Cate, the luxury barely registered.

Her mind was elsewhere.

Inside, the house was silent. The staff had long since retired for the night, and the world outside felt impossibly distant. Only three people were awake in this vast, opulent space—Ross, Althea, and Cate.

Their footsteps were soft against the polished floors as they walked through the grand hallways, their movements almost ghostlike beneath the warm, dim glow of the chandeliers.

Everything was pristine—every piece of furniture, every expensive rug, every art piece displayed on the walls. Yet, despite the elegance surrounding her, Cate's focus remained locked on Ross.

He walked ahead of her, his presence dominating the space without even trying.

Cate had worked alongside many powerful men in the industry—directors, producers, actors who thought the world revolved around them. But Ross was different. He didn't just exude power.

He was power. Every step he took was deliberate, controlled, effortless.

She watched the way his muscles shifted beneath his fitted dress shirt, how his broad shoulders moved with an air of complete confidence. He wasn't in a rush. He knew exactly where this night was headed.

Cate's breath quickened.

Heat pooled low in her stomach, her thighs pressing together instinctively as a wetness began to gather between them.

It was ridiculous how her body responded to him already—how just the way he carried himself was enough to have her aching, wanting.

And then, finally, they arrived.

Ross led them to a particular room—a private suite, luxurious and grand, much like everything else in this house.

The massive bed was draped in dark silk sheets, the lighting soft and intimate, casting shadows along the sleek furniture and high ceilings.

There was a bar in the corner, a plush lounge area, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline.

But Cate barely saw any of it.

She wasn't looking at the room.

She was looking at Ross.

The moment the door shut behind them with a quiet click, he turned.

His dark eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, he simply stood there, watching her—assessing her.

The silence stretched between them, thick and charged, the weight of it pressing down on her skin like a tangible force.

Then, he smiled.

"Let the party continue," he murmured, his voice deep, smooth, laced with a promise that made her shudder.

Slowly, he began to close the distance between them, his movements unhurried, controlled.

Cate felt rooted to the spot, her breath caught in her throat as he approached.

He was looking at her like she was something to be devoured, his hunger evident in the way his gaze raked over her from head to toe.

She swallowed hard.

Cate knew she wasn't as stunning as Althea—at least, not in the same way. Althea was effortlessly breathtaking, a beauty so ethereal it almost didn't seem real.

But Cate was still one of Hollywood's most celebrated faces. She had graced magazine covers, starred in blockbuster films, turned heads wherever she went.

And yet, in this moment, standing before Ross, she felt like nothing more than prey.

Ross's jaw was tight, his pupils blown wide, his body tense with restraint.

He was already hard. Already aching.

The anticipation crackled between them like a live wire.

He wanted to watch her fall apart.

Wanted to hear her moan his name, to see her body writhe beneath him, to have her begging for more before the night was over.

And by the time he was finished with her, there would be no doubt left in her mind.

No hesitation.

No regret.

Only the certainty that she had given herself over completely—mind, body, and soul—to the one man who knew exactly how to ruin her.

As Ross stepped closer, he didn't hesitate. His hands found Cate's waist, his grip firm, possessive, as he pulled her flush against him. And then, without another word, his lips crashed onto hers.

Cate gasped against his mouth, her body tensing for a split second before melting into him.

His kiss was deep, hungry—nothing like the soft, familiar kisses she was used to. Ross kissed her like he was claiming her, like he had already decided she was his, and Cate had no strength to resist.

"Mmm…" she moaned softly, her hands instinctively gripping his shirt.

For the briefest moment, an image of her husband flickered in her mind—his face, his smile, the quiet, comfortable love they shared. A sharp pang of guilt shot through her chest.

But then, Ross's tongue slid between her lips, coaxing her deeper into the kiss, and the guilt began to crumble.

A shiver ran down her spine as his hands roamed, exploring her curves with a confidence that made her knees weak.

The heat of his body, the roughness of his touch, the way he dominated her with nothing but a kiss—it was intoxicating.

And then, the pleasure struck.

It started as a slow, simmering warmth, spreading from where his hands gripped her hips, trailing down her spine, pooling between her legs.

Cate whimpered.

The last remnants of hesitation shattered as desire consumed her.

Her husband's image faded into nothingness, lost beneath the flood of sensation overtaking her body.

All that mattered now was Ross.

His touch.

His scent.

His body pressed against hers, making her feel more alive than she had in years.