Evil MC's NTR Harem

Chapter 1115: Chapter 1115 Camera

Ace inhaled sharply. Miku stiffened.

One of the newcomers—Avery—pressed back tears but held them in, determined not to appear weak.

Giana finally looked at Ross again, guilt and desperation mixing in her eyes.

“I’m truly sorry, Ross. We were out of options. We didn’t know where else to go. We didn’t mean to bring danger to your home.”

Silence settled—thick, suffocating, everyone waiting for Ross’s reaction.

Would he kick them out?

Would he scold them?

Would he refuse to involve himself?

Would he see them as burdens… liabilities?

But Ross simply stood there, unreadable, observing them with those calm, piercing eyes—

—and for the first time since they arrived, all five women understood one thing very clearly:

They had entered the home of someone far more dangerous than anything that chased them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ross said, waving away their panic as though it were nothing more than dust in the air.

His presence alone steadied the room.

“Since you’re already here, you might as well stay. As for those who are after you…” His eyes hardened, a quiet storm gathering behind them.

“I’ll take care of them when they come.”

A ripple of relief mixed with fear passed among the women.

“But right now,” Ross continued, his tone softening again, “the most important thing is treating Libby.”

His gaze settled on the blonde girl.

Libby flinched slightly under the attention—not because she feared him, but because she felt exposed.

She was young, barely eighteen, her beauty still in that delicate stage between innocence and maturity.

Even with sweat on her brow and pain distorting her features, she was stunning.

Her golden hair glued to her cheeks, her breathing shallow, her hands pressing on her wounded abdomen.

Ross smiled at her—calm, almost tender.

“Lie down on the sofa, Libby. I’ll treat your wounds.”

Libby swallowed, fear and hope mixing in her eyes. She glanced toward her friends.

Giana gave her a reassuring nod, her lips tight with worry. The others stepped aside, making space.

Libby took a shaky breath and limped toward the sofa, each step slow and painful.

Her knees trembled as she lowered herself down, hugging the edge of the cushions as though afraid she might sink through them.

A soft groan escaped her lips.

Ross moved behind her, pulling a wooden chair and setting it beside the sofa.

He sat down smoothly, like someone who had done this a thousand times.

The room grew quiet—so quiet that the faint drip of water somewhere in the basement echoed like a drum.

He placed both hands gently over Libby’s wound. His palms were warm, almost soothing.

Libby’s breath hitched, but she did not pull away.

Ross closed his eyes.

“No matter what happens, Libby,” he murmured, voice steady and low, “don’t move. Understand?”

“Y-Yes…” she whispered.

Her hands clenched the sides of the sofa.

Ross inhaled deeply—once, twice—and then began.

The first change came subtly: a soft hum, almost like the vibration of metal struck gently.

Then light began to gather around his hands.

Faint at first, barely visible… then brighter, a soft green glow blooming like fireflies waking at dusk.

A collective breath sucked in.

“H-How is he doing that?” someone whispered.

“What is that light…?”

“Is that his ability from the heart stone?”

Ross’s jaw tightened. Sweat beaded across his forehead. His breathing grew harsher, strained.

The green glow intensified, swirling like mist around his fingers before sinking directly into Libby’s flesh.

Libby gasped, arching slightly—but Ross pressed her shoulder down with one hand.

“Don’t move,” he repeated, voice rough.

She bit her lip until it nearly bled.

A minute passed. Then two. The air itself felt heavier, as though drawn toward Ross and Libby.

The women exchanged worried glances. Even the bravest among them looked pale.

Then, suddenly—

Ross’s eyes snapped open.

His body jerked forward.

A violent choke sounded from his throat before he spat out a mouthful of dark, wet blood onto the stone floor.

“ROSS!!”

Their screams overlapped, panic exploding through the room.

Libby froze, trembling hysterically.

Giana rushed forward but stopped when Ross lifted a shaking hand, silently commanding her to stay back.

His hands returned to Libby’s wound, still glowing—though dimmer now, flickering like a candle in the wind.

More sweat dripped down his face, sliding down his temples, soaking into his shirt.

His breath grew ragged, each inhale a struggle.

“Why doesn’t he stop?!” one of the girls cried.

“He’s pushing himself too much!”

“Someoen do something!”

Miku stood on the side, hands clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She knew Ross was acting. She knew he was in no real danger.

But the sight of him coughing blood, trembling, forcing himself to continue—it pierced something inside her.

The performance was too flawless, too convincing. For a moment her heart forgot reality.

“He… he’ll be fine,” she said softly, though her voice shook.

Ross didn’t look fine.

His face was pale, his lips slightly parted as if he was barely holding back another cough of blood.

His fingers trembled over Libby’s skin.

And still—he didn’t stop.

He held on as though Libby’s life depended on it.

The women watched with wide eyes, caught between awe and terror, their breaths held, their hearts pounding in their chests.

Ross leaned closer, sweat dripping from his chin onto the sofa.

The glow pulsed again—stronger this time—and a faint, sizzling sound echoed through the room as the light seeped deeper into Libby’s wound.

Libby whimpered.

“You’re doing great,” Ross whispered weakly. “Just… hold on.”

Another pulse of green.

Another wave of strain washing over him.

Another moment where his body looked ready to collapse.

And yet, he continued—never breaking, never faltering.

Even if every second made him look more and more like he was paying a terrible price for saving her.

Five agonizing minutes crawled by.

Ross’s breathing had grown shallow, each exhale sounding more strained than the last.

The green glow around his hands dimmed until it flickered weakly—like a candle about to die.

Then—

“Hak!”