Evil MC's NTR Harem

Ross raised one hand in acknowledgment, the other still clutching the trophy. He didn't need to say a word. His legacy had spoken for him.

Reporters swarmed. Social media exploded. Sports networks broadcast the replay of his Game Four poster dunk from every angle, with slow motion commentary and excited panel debates:

"Is Ross Oakley the greatest to ever play the game?" Most had already answered that question years ago.

It was the perfect ending to another perfect season.

For Ross.

But not for Colton Reyes.

As the confetti continued to fall, Colton sat alone at the edge of the bench, towel draped over his head, eyes blank.

He hadn't played a minute in the final quarter—not after being broken, outplayed, and humiliated game after game. Not after being targeted.

Because Ross hadn't forgotten what Colton said in Game One.

He hadn't forgotten the trash talk, the personal jab, the desperation in Colton's eyes when he tried to bait a legend.

And Ross didn't just defeat him on the court.

He erased him.

Every time Colton stepped onto the floor, Ross made him the victim.

He crossed him up again. Dunked over him again. Mocked him with no-look threes and stared him down after every possession.

Colton had gone from challenger to highlight reel fodder in a matter of days.

And the worst part?

Ross was just getting started.

Because even as he celebrated on the court, surrounded by fans and flashing cameras, his eyes drifted toward the bench.

Toward the broken figure of Colton Reyes.

He didn't smile.

He just watched.

There was no anger in his gaze—just intention. Purpose. Plans already in motion.

Because for Ross Oakley, the game never ended at the final buzzer.

For Colton, the series may have ended in four games.

But the real punishment?

It would haunt him so deeply that, years from now, Colton Reyes would curse the day he ever crossed paths with Ross Oakley.

Not just because of the humiliation on the court—but because Ross had planted something far more dangerous than defeat.

He had planted doubt and theft of the most painful kind.

***

"It's okay, honey. You'll win next time for sure," a beautiful woman said sweetly, curling up beside him on the couch.

They were back home, a full week after the Parkland Knights had hoisted yet another championship trophy.

A week since Colton's team had been swept off the court and swept under the rug of history.

But the sting still lingered. No post-season break, no vacation, no kiss from his wife could wash it away.

"I know," Colton said, forcing a small smile.

He leaned over and kissed her, trying to appreciate the gesture.

Her lips were soft and warm, the familiar comfort of home.

But there was a hollowness inside him that no affection could reach.

Kristine beamed. "I've got a little present for you," she whispered, rising from the couch with a playful wink. "Wait here."

She walked off toward the bathroom, hips swaying as she went.

Colton watched her go, a flicker of anticipation lighting in his chest.

He knew exactly what the 'present' was. It was how she always comforted him after a loss—tenderness, passion, reassurance.

But this time... it didn't feel the same.

Because then, like poison in water, Ross's voice returned. Uninvited. Unrelenting.

"She say anything to you about that business trip last weekend? The one she 'had to take alone'?

Funny. Because rumor has it... she wasn't alone."

Colton's jaw clenched.

He tried to brush it off. He tried. But the words had teeth, and they sank deep.

He shifted uneasily on the couch, the anticipation turning into unease.

It was ridiculous, wasn't it? Kristine would never cheat on him. She was loyal. She was his.

Right?

He rubbed his temples, hoping the voice would go away. But it didn't.

Ross had done this to him.

Ross had cracked him open—not just on the court, but in his own damn living room.

He had walked into Colton's mind and redecorated.

Colton's eyes drifted to the nightstand.

Kristine's phone sat there. Charging. Unlocked for a brief moment earlier, now dark again.

His stomach twisted.

He told himself it was nothing. He told himself he was just being paranoid. But still… he moved toward it, as if drawn by some invisible thread.

He reached out.

His fingers hovered above the screen.

And then—he pulled back, like it was a live grenade.

"Fuck!" he hissed under his breath, running a hand down his face. "What the hell am I doing?"

He stood and started pacing.

"You trust her. You love her. She loves you. She's been by your side through everything," he muttered aloud, as if hearing the words might make them true again.

But they didn't help.

He looked back at the phone.

And this time, he couldn't resist.

He snatched it. Pressed the screen.

Locked.

He stared at the passcode input, realization hitting him like a brick wall.

He didn't know the password.

He had never asked.

Never needed to.

Because he trusted her.

But now—now that trust had cracks in it, and from those cracks came leaking every fear, every insecurity, every whispered suspicion that had ever existed in the dark corners of his mind.

Ross had known exactly what he was doing.

This wasn't just a basketball rivalry.

This was psychological warfare.

And Colton... was losing.

He sat back down, phone still in hand. His thumb hovered over the screen, almost trembling.

What if there was something?

What if the rumors were true?

What if, while he was fighting for his career on the court, someone else had been winning in his own bed?

The bathroom door clicked.

Colton's eyes snapped up.

Kristine's voice called out, light and playful. "You ready, babe?"

He quickly set the phone down, wiping his palms on his shorts as though they were covered in blood.

"Yeah," he said, trying to steady his voice. "I'm ready."

But his heart was pounding.

Not from excitement.

Not from desire.

From fear.

Fear that something sacred had been violated.

Fear that a seed of doubt had bloomed into something far worse.

Fear that even though the finals were over...

Ross Oakley was still winning.

And he did.

"Honey, can I use your phone for a moment?" Colton asked, doing his best to sound casual—light, effortless, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

His voice was calm, but his heart pounded like a war drum beneath his chest.