Home / Evil MC's NTR Harem / Chapter 596 Misty

Read free on Ficlyn

Evil MC's NTR Harem

Chapter 596 Misty · Oct 12, 2026

Prev Chapter Novel Info Next Chapter

Chapter List (1266)

Page number / 26

551 Chapter 551 Doorway 2026-10-12
552 Chapter 552 Bullet 2026-10-12
553 Chapter 553 Blankets 2026-10-12
554 Chapter 554 Ancient 2026-10-12
555 Chapter 555 Active 2026-10-12
556 Chapter 556 Earth 2026-10-12
557 Chapter 557 Code 2026-10-12
558 Chapter 558 Young 2026-10-12
559 Chapter 559 Raider 2026-10-12
560 Chapter 560 Concept 2026-10-12
561 Chapter 561 Nose 2026-10-12
562 Chapter 562 Legendary 2026-10-12
563 Chapter 563 Basement 2026-10-12
564 Chapter 564 Hotpot 2026-10-12
565 Chapter 565 Signature 2026-10-12
566 Chapter 566 Tea 2026-10-12
567 Chapter 567 Stranger 2026-10-12
568 Chapter 568 Answer 2026-10-12
569 Chapter 569 Reverse 2026-10-12
570 Chapter 570 Barrier 2026-10-12
571 Chapter 571 Assign 2026-10-12
572 Chapter 572 Beard 2026-10-12
573 Chapter 573 Merchant 2026-10-12
574 Chapter 574 Hustle 2026-10-12
575 Chapter 575 Conflict 2026-10-12
576 Chapter 576 Farm 2026-10-12
577 Chapter 577 Profile 2026-10-12
578 Chapter 578 Case 2026-10-12
579 Chapter 579 Cricket 2026-10-12
580 Chapter 580 Wholesome 2026-10-12
581 Chapter 581 Adrenaline 2026-10-12
582 Chapter 582 Spot 2026-10-12
583 Chapter 583 Artist 2026-10-12
584 Chapter 584 Thesis 2026-10-12
585 Chapter 585 Primitive 2026-10-12
586 Chapter 586 Experience 2026-10-12
587 Chapter 587 Canon 2026-10-12
588 Chapter 588 Jargon 2026-10-12
589 Chapter 589 Stuff 2026-10-12
590 Chapter 590 Gold 2026-10-12
591 Chapter 591 Ground 2026-10-12
592 Chapter 592 Coding 2026-10-12
593 Chapter 593 Shine 2026-10-12
594 Chapter 594 Shackles 2026-10-12
595 Chapter 595 Yoga 2026-10-12
596 Chapter 596 Misty 2026-10-12
597 Chapter 597 Document 2026-10-12
598 Chapter 598 Riddle 2026-10-12
599 Chapter 599 Feature 2026-10-12
600 Chapter 600 Degree 2026-10-12

Chapter 596 Misty

Ross, of course, did as he promised. A week later, he arranged the meeting between the estranged couple—Ashley and Cyril.

It was quiet when they arrived, a subdued tension hanging in the air like a storm that had already passed but left everything broken in its wake.

Cyril looked good at first glance.

He was still dressed in designer clothes, his shoes polished, his watch expensive, and his hair carefully styled.

From afar, he mightʼve looked like the same man who used to walk into boardrooms with confidence and command respect without speaking a word.

But up close, it was clear that something was missing. The light in his eyes had dulled. His once-proud shoulders slumped slightly.

There was stubble on his face, several days old, and it didnʼt suit him—he had always been meticulous, clean-cut.

Now, he looked like a man weighed down by the weight of choices he couldnʼt take back.

Despite still having access to his millions, it was painfully obvious: Cyril had lost something far more valuable.

He had lost his woman. He had lost Ashley.

And in the corner of the room, like a silent ghost pulling strings from the shadows, Ross sat—calm, detached, almost unreadable.

He was, in many ways, the reason all of this had happened. If fate were a writer, it clearly had a wicked sense of irony.

Ashley was the first to speak. She didnʼt shout. She didnʼt cry. She simply asked a single question.

”Why?”

Just one word. One syllable. But it was laced with everything she felt—anger, confusion, pain, betrayal.

Cyrilʼs lips parted, and he tried to speak. The truth was right there, teetering on the edge of his tongue.

But no sound came out. He tried again, a little more desperately, but something within him refused to let the words form.

His mouth moved, but his voice failed him.

Panicking, he grabbed a piece of paper from the table and a pen, trying to write down the truth.

His hand shook.

The pen barely touched the paper. He then reached for his phone, trying to type it out in a message—but his fingers felt heavy, almost paralyzed, like they belonged to someone else.

His mind screamed at his body to move, to act, to do something, but nothing worked.

It became painfully clear—Cyril was no longer in full control of himself.

Finally, with what little strength he had left, he forced out the only words he was seemingly allowed to say.

”Iʼm sorry, Ashley. It was all my fault.”

And with that, he broke. His voice cracked, and he began to cry—not with the quiet, dignified tears of a proud man, but the raw, messy sobs of someone who had finally accepted the depth of his failure.

He covered his face with his hands, ashamed, his body trembling with grief.

Ashley didnʼt move. She didnʼt say a word. She simply watched him, her expression unreadable.

Cyril, in the throes of his regret, could only replay the moment in his mind when his daughter had introduced Ross to the family.

At the time, Ross had been charming, polite—but ordinary. Cyril hadnʼt paid him much attention.

Heʼd dismissed him as a phase, a fleeting crush, someone who didnʼt belong in their world.

But oh, how wrong heʼd been.

If only he had seen what Ross truly was—what he was capable of.

If only he had treated him with the respect he apparently deserved. Maybe things wouldʼve turned out differently.

Maybe Ashley wouldnʼt be sitting across from him now, her heart broken and her trust shattered.

Looking at Ross now, Cyril felt something strange rise in his chest. It wasnʼt just guilt—it was awe.

Fear. Helpless admiration.

If he had known then what he knew now, he might have dropped to his knees and addressed Ross like he was some kind of god.

Like Ross was his daddy or something.

But it was too late. The past couldnʼt be bought—not even with all the money in the world.

And no apology, no wealth, no desperate plea could undo what had already been done.

Cyril was a man with everything… and yet, somehow, heʼd ended up with nothing.

”Thatʼs all you can say? That youʼre sorry?” Ashleyʼs voice cracked. ”What the fuck were you thinking, Cyril?!”

It was the first time she had ever cursed at him in all their years together.

Once, she might have thought herself too composed, too restrained for that kind of emotional outburst.

But now?

Now she felt like everything sheʼd believed about their marriage, about the man she married, had crumbled beneath her feet.

Cyril recoiled like heʼd been struck. His eyes, usually calm and calculating, were glassy and unfocused.

He opened his mouth, desperation flickering in his expression as he tried to respond.

”I… ammmm…” he stammered, the sound escaping his lips weak and broken.

It was pathetic. And heartbreaking.

This wasnʼt the Cyril she had known. The Cyril she married had been a man who commanded attention, who negotiated business deals with sharp intellect and disarming charm.

But now he stood in front of her like a prisoner locked inside his own body, unable to speak, unable to explain, unable to fight for what was left of their relationship.

”Why are you stuttering?” Ashleyʼs voice softened for a brief second, confusion overtaking her fury.

”This… this isnʼt like you at all, Cyril.”

She took a step closer, eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some glimmer of recognition—of the man he used to be.

But there was nothing there. Just a hollow, broken shell who looked like her husband but couldnʼt even lift his voice to defend himself.

”Say something. Please,” she whispered.

But the silence stretched.

And with each second that passed, the anger returned, stronger than before.

She shook her head slowly, tears threatening to fall but never quite spilling over.

”This is useless,” she muttered bitterly.

With that, she turned and walked out, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. She didnʼt look back.

There was no point. The man she had loved was gone—and what remained couldnʼt even tell her why.

By the time she arrived home, she was drained. Her heart felt heavy, her limbs tired.

The day had taken more out of her than she expected.

She had gone there wanting closure—something, anything to help her make sense of everything that had fallen apart.

But she left with more questions than answers.

And a growing suspicion that something far darker was at play.

She stepped into the apartment and paused.

The aroma hit her immediately—warm, rich, and inviting.

A mix of sautéed garlic, rosemary, butter, and something slightly sweet.

It smelled like comfort. Like safety. Like home.

She blinked, almost in disbelief. She hadnʼt realized how hungry she was until that very moment.

Ross was in the kitchen, as effortlessly put together as ever.

He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and an apron that looked like it belonged on the cover of some upscale cooking magazine.

He moved with practiced ease, flipping something in a pan while humming to himself like he didnʼt have a care in the world.

When he noticed her, he turned with that familiar, confident smile that never seemed to waver.

”So,” he said, spoon in hand, ”how did the meeting go?”

Ashley just stood there for a moment, staring at him.

Everything about him was so controlled, so calm—so opposite from the broken mess she had just left behind. It was disorienting. Infuriating. Comforting. All at once.

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Ross tilted his head, watching her with curious amusement. ”That bad, huh?”

Ashley finally moved, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

She didnʼt answer, not right away.

She felt like she was still carrying the weight of that meeting on her shoulders, and now she was standing in the middle of a world that seemed completely untouched by it.

Ross returned to the stove, casually stirring a simmering sauce.

”Well,” he continued, ”I hope you didnʼt expect too much. Cyrilʼs been… unstable for a while now.”

Ashley narrowed her eyes. ”What did you do to him?”

Ross chuckled lightly, not even bothering to pretend he didnʼt know what she meant.

”I didnʼt do anything. He did it to himself. All I ever did was give him the opportunity to show who he really was.”

”You broke him.”

”No,” Ross said, turning toward her now, his eyes cool and sharp. ”He was already broken. I just stopped pretending otherwise.”

There was something terrifying about the way Ross said it—calm, measured, like he was simply stating a fact. And maybe he was. Maybe thatʼs what made it worse.

Ashley looked away, her throat tightening. She didnʼt want to admit it, but part of her felt… safer here. With Ross. Even after everything.

And that scared her more than anything else.

What was most interesting, though, was how the night ended.

After the meal was finished and the plates were cleared, a different kind of hunger would soon be satisfied.

Prev Chapter Novel Info Next Chapter