Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

The Bennett estate locked itself in a wall.

It rose from the forest beside the road without warning, a dark stretch of stone nearly four meters high and thick enough to belong around a military installation rather than a family home. The upper edge carried none of the ugly coils of ordinary electric fencing.

Instead, a narrow metallic lattice had been worked directly into the stone, almost decorative beneath the night, until a faint blue current traveled across it and revealed exactly what it was.

Anyone foolish enough to climb it would probably wake up three bloodlines later.

Park followed the wall through the window as the convoy slowed. It continued between the trees for so long that he briefly wondered whether the Bennett family had purchased an estate or quietly annexed part of the Crown District.

Security cameras were hidden inside the stonework, black lenses tucked between carved leaves and little silver emblems like the wall itself was trying to cosplay as art. Narrow pillars stood at regular intervals, each one packing motion sensors, thermal scanners, and enough tech to make the whole perimeter feel like it was breathing.

Up above, tiny red lights drifted through the darkness as patrol drones moved between the treetops, silent enough you could mistake them for distant stars if you weren’t paying attention.

The wall alone explained a lot about the Bennetts.

Most noble families still wanted to be seen. Even the ones who complained about gossip built their places where guests could gawk from the road and journalists could snap photos whenever a fresh scandal needed blood.

The Bennetts had planted an entire forest between themselves and the rest of the world.

There were families in the Crown District who could tell you which minister kept a mistress up north, which duke had quietly sold off parts of his inheritance, and which royal cousin had gambled away enough money to inconvenience a small dukedom.

’Secrets here rarely stayed secrets.’

They just became expensive information passed around dinner tables by people pretending they weren’t enjoying every second of it.

Yet almost nothing ever escaped the Bennett estate.

The Royal Chancellor’s private life stayed locked behind these walls. The Prime Minister’s family drama never reached the press. Their daughters showed up when expected, smiled when necessary, and vanished again before anyone learned more than the family wanted them to know.

And somehow, through eighteen years of aristocratic gossip, political spying, ambitious servants, private investigators, and nobles who treated other people’s business like a competitive sport... nobody had discovered the most ridiculous secret of all:

Park Nathaniel Bennett...

The only son of the Prime Minister and the youngest child of the Bennetts.

An entire human being hidden inside one of the most watched families in the Celestial Empire, and not even the bigger houses famous for sniffing secrets out of locked rooms had known he existed.

’This feels like "secret young master" arc with plot twists that used to make me wanna throw my phone.’

Park looked at the wall again.

Maybe the family didn’t keep secrets and just buried them alive. Classic.

The convoy left the main avenue and rolled up to the gates:

They were enormous, way taller than the ones at the Crown District entrance, forged from black metal thick enough that ramming them would require either a tank or a deep personal hatred of your insurance company. Silver lines ran through the bars in elegant geometric patterns, meeting at the centre under the Bennett family crest.

A crowned dragon stood inside a circular shield, one paw resting on a sword while three stars burned above its head.

The crest took up most of the gate. Not flashy, just impossible to ignore.

Designed back in the days when family symbols got carried onto actual battlefields and men were expected to recognize exactly whose army had shown up to ruin their morning.

The two Maybachs stopped in front and for less than a second, pale beams of light moved across the convoy, reading the crests, plates, passengers, and probably Park’s entire history of bad life choices while they were at it.

Somewhere inside the gatehouse, security systems compared faces, voices, body temperatures, and whatever else rich people were terrified might get copied before the gates opened.

Each half slid smoothly into the walls, revealing a private road that disappeared under the trees. Of course they opened like that.

The first Maybach entered, and Park’s view of the Crown District vanished behind them.

The forest swallowed the convoy almost immediately.

Tall trees crowded both sides of the drive, trunks broad and old, branches closing overhead so thick the night sky only survived in scattered pieces. Soft ground lights were hidden among ferns and low hedges, lighting the road without messing with the darkness farther in. Every few seconds another camera caught a brief glint between the leaves.

Park noticed narrow paths breaking away from the main drive before disappearing deeper into the property.

Some led toward security posts disguised as small stone lodges. Others probably reached staff residences, private gardens, service buildings, and whatever else was needed to keep a miniature kingdom alive without letting outsiders see it breathe.

This place wasn’t an estate but a whole hidden village with better funding than most cities back on Earth.

The road kept going.

Then kept going some more.

Park rested his head against the seat and watched trees pass by in endless ranks. This drive was longer than some filler arcs.

"I have never actually stopped to consider how far the house is from the gate."

"Approximately two kilometres," Quinn answered.

He turned toward the front.

"Two kilometres?"

"The private woodland surrounds most of the estate."

"Of course it does."

Quinn glanced at him through the mirror.

Park gestured at the trees. "Normal families have curtains. Mine apparently decided visibility itself was a security problem like a ’final boss castle’ levels of isolation."

A quiet smile touched her mouth.

The road bent left, then right, crossed a low stone bridge and climbed gradually through another stretch of forest. Several deer stood between the trees, watching the convoy with the calm entitlement of animals that had never once worried about becoming dinner. Beyond them, Park caught the silver surface of a lake through the branches, followed by what looked like a glass pavilion glowing near the water.

The house still refused to appear.

The Bennett estate didn’t sit at the end of the driveway waiting to impress visitors like some try-hard mansion in a romance webnovel. The land unfolded around it slowly, forcing anyone who entered to travel deep enough that the outside world felt deliberately left behind.

By the time the forest finally began to thin, Park had almost stopped expecting the mansion.

Then the trees opened.

The Bennett residence stood beyond them in full light.

Park leaned forward before he could stop himself.

The mansion rose four storeys above a massive front courtyard. Pale stone walls carried the shape of an old castle without going full dramatic with the usual towers, battlements and all that extra nonsense architects threw in whenever rich clients said the word "historic." Broad wings stretched out from both sides of the central structure, dark slate roofs broken by rows of tall windows, stone balconies and steep decorative gables.

Small corner towers gave the whole place a guarded, almost regal outline, while the main entrance rose under a grand arch held up by columns two floors high.

It was enormous, but not in the ridiculous way.

The central block held the formal reception halls, family rooms and offices. The wings stretched far enough to give each part of the household its own space, and the upper windows continued in long illuminated rows that hinted at corridors, private suites and entire sections Park had probably never set foot in, even with the memories left behind by the previous owner of this body.

The front grounds were lit up like someone was genuinely afraid of the dark.

Tall lamps lined the long central drive, golden light spilling over patterned stone and perfectly trimmed gardens. Six fountains sat in the courtyard in perfect symmetry, three on each side, water rising in bright silver columns before falling into wide circular basins.

Low hedges divided everything into sharp geometric shapes, broken up by statues, flowerbeds and narrow walking paths leading toward the mansion.

Cars filled both sides of the approach and were all arranged in long flawless lines that ran beside the drive almost to the entrance. Maybachs, Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, armored sedans, sports cars and several vintage machines polished to a shine sat under the estate lights.

Most were black, silver or white, though a few brighter colors broke the discipline here and there — probably belonging to one of his sisters.

Park counted four red cars before he gave up.

The Bennetts owned enough vehicles to open a dealership, and somehow he had still spent his previous life taking public transport.

’Insecurity really is an unkind comedian.’