Evil MC's NTR Harem

Kirito didn't respond. His expression was stoic, but his fingers moved quickly over his phone screen.

He sent a brief text message, his mind racing as he strategized his next move.

Ross and his entourage simply watched, their gazes filled with derision, as if Kirito was the biggest clown they had ever seen.

Unbeknownst to them—or so Kirito thought—he had twenty more men stationed outside, guarding the perimeter.

He planned for them to storm in on his signal, creating chaos that he could use to his advantage.

He wanted to escape with his life at the very least. As for his wife and daughter, he needed to plan better next time he met Ross Oakley.

The plan wasn't flawless, but Kirito hated being cornered, especially after grossly underestimating Ross and his capabilities.

He glanced at the door, waiting. Any second now…

Ross smirked knowingly, breaking the silence. "If you're waiting for your boys outside…" He let the sentence hang, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "They're gone."

Kirito's heart skipped a beat, but he refused to show weakness.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice firm.

Ross stood leisurely, brushing invisible dust off his immaculate clothes.

"They've already become dog food as we speak." His tone was casual, almost mocking, as though discussing the weather.

"You l—" Kirito stopped himself mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat.

He had been about to call Ross a liar, but the memory of Brandon tearing through his fifteen men flashed in his mind like a violent slideshow.

Ross wasn't bluffing.

Kirito clenched his fists at his sides, his mind struggling to comprehend the extent of Ross's power.

How had this man—this smug, infuriating man—neutralized twenty armed and trained individuals so effortlessly?

He couldn't help but recall Brandon, the indomitable killing machine who had wiped out his team with ease.

Was it some kind of advanced technology? A secret weapon? Or something else entirely beyond Kirito's understanding?

Kirito was not new to death as in his life of business some things really get messy in the end.

He just could not remember the last time he lost this badly against someone else.

Kirito wanted to rage but he chose to bottle it all in.

Ross broke his train of thought with a chuckle.

"But," he said, dragging the word out, "since you've come so far, only to get humiliated like this, I'll offer you a chance."

Kirito's eyes narrowed. He didn't trust Ross, but he needed to know more about this so-called opportunity.

Ross gestured lazily toward Brandon, who loomed silently in the background like a shadow.

"If you can defeat my man Brandon here in anything—combat, a contest, hell, even a game of chess—I'll allow you to take Reina and Mari back home. Fair deal, right?"

Kirito's gaze darted to Brandon, then back to Ross.

"One chance?" he asked cautiously, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within him.

Ross nodded, his smile widening.

"One chance. That's all you get."

Kirito's mind raced. Brandon wasn't just physically formidable—he was an enigma, a man who had shrugged off bullets and annihilated his team without breaking a sweat.

What kind of contest could he realistically win against someone like that?

Still, he had no choice. If there was even the slimmest possibility of rescuing Reina and Mari, he had to take it.

"I'll do it," Kirito said finally, his voice firm. "Name the challenge."

Ross grinned, his expression dripping with mockery. "Oh, don't worry, Kirito. I'll let you choose."

Kirito paused for a full minute, his mind racing as he considered his options. His eyes lit up with a spark of intelligence as an idea formed.

"Anything I say?" he asked cautiously, seeking confirmation from Ross.

"Anything," Ross replied with unshakable confidence, his calm demeanor only adding to the tension in the room.

Kirito's lips curled into a sly grin.

"Alright then. I'm betting that I'm richer than your Brandon," he declared, leaning back slightly as if his declaration was already a winning move.

With a net worth of 30 billion, Kirito was confident.

After all, he had worked hard to amass his fortune, and in this country, there were few who could rival him.

Ross's smile widened, almost as if he had been expecting such a move.

"Is that your final challenge?" he asked, his tone both amused and curious.

"You should know something about Brandon before you make that call. He's a special case. I saved his life once, and because of that, he doesn't take a salary from me. He works for free, out of gratitude."

Kirito raised an eyebrow at this revelation but remained silent as Ross continued.

"But if you're feeling bold, you can always challenge me directly instead," Ross added, leaning forward slightly.

His voice was calm, but his smile was sharp, almost predatory, as though the prospect of comparing wealth entertained him to no end.

The room grew quiet for a moment as Kirito considered the implications of Ross's words.

Something about his unwavering confidence made Kirito hesitate.

Ross wasn't just rich; he was connected.

High-end technology, especially when it involved advanced weaponry or specialized devices, didn't just represent wealth—it was a gateway to an entirely different realm of power and influence.

If Ross was as deeply rooted in this world as he appeared to be, Kirito wasn't sure he wanted to uncover just how far those roots extended.

The thought of another shocking revelation tonight made him cautious.

In fact, Kirito wouldn't have been surprised if Ross turned out to be wealthier than the richest man alive.

After all, the truly rich rarely flaunted their assets. They didn't need to.

They preferred to stay in the shadows, pulling strings and orchestrating events from behind the scenes.

Ross seemed to fit that mold perfectly.

Kirito sighed internally. This wasn't a game he could afford to lose. He needed to change his approach. Explore more stories at My Virtual Library Empire

"I pick..." he said slowly, his voice steady as he made his decision.

Kirito decided to return to his roots, choosing to gamble on something he knew he excelled at.

This wasn't just about pride anymore—it was about playing to his strengths in a game where every move counted.