Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 115: Level Of Danger

Cyran whistled behind Ephyra while Myra clapped her hands together like an excited child. "Oh. My. Goddess. This is the first time I’m seeing you dressed like this and you look so beautiful." Her gaze skimmed over her body down to her foot, covered in stiletto heels then it went back up and stopped at her face. Suddenly, she took notice of her appearance. "Who helped you with your makeup? You look like you are in your mid-twenties but in a hot way! And your hair... I love how the messy bun is styled, who helped you with it?"

Ephyra laughed, "I did everything myself."

Malia gasped, clutching her chest as though Ephyra’s revelation had physically struck her. "You did everything yourself? The makeup? The hair? The gown choice?" She spun dramatically to Orla. "Did you hear that? This woman is a walking masterpiece. She doesn’t even need a team to look like this."

Orla chuckled softly, shaking her head at Malia’s antics. "It’s impressive, no doubt. But you might want to tone down the theatrics, Malia. You’re embarrassing her."

Ephyra smirked. "Trust me, Orla, nothing embarrasses Malia more than being told she’s embarrassing someone else."

Malia narrowed her eyes at Ephyra, crossing her arms. "Ha ha, very funny. But seriously, Ephyra, you’re going to have everyone in the room talking. No one’s going to forget this look of yours anytime soon. I mean who would have associated Ephyra with this stunning lady In front of me? They would all stare in disbelief! Now, I can’t wait to see their faces, especially that dumb Alan!"

Cyran stepped into view, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his tailored black suit. His dark hair was slicked back, and a hint of amusement danced in his eyes. "I’ll give you this, Ephyra. You clean up well. Though I have to agree with Malia—you’re going to be the talk of the ceremony. Not that it’s a bad thing. Some of us live for drama."

Ephyra arched an eyebrow at Cyran, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Some of us? Don’t you mean you?"

Cyran shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "I’m an observer, not a participant. But today, you’ll be the star of the show, and I’m just here to enjoy the fireworks."

Malia clapped her hands together, her excitement bubbling over again. "Speaking of fireworks, let’s not waste time. The ceremony starts in less than an hour, and we need to make sure you’re front and center for every photo op."

Ephyra rolled her eyes, but her amusement was evident. "Malia, I’m not here to steal the spotlight. It’s a graduation ceremony, not a red-carpet event."

Malia shot her a pointed look. "Oh, but it is a red-carpet event, Ephyra. You just don’t realize it yet."

Orla, ever the calm mediator, placed a hand on Malia’s shoulder. "Alright, that’s enough already. Let’s wear our graduation coats or whatever the hell they are called. Ephyra knows how to handle herself."

Cyran smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. "She does, but it’s more fun to watch Malia panic like this and I believe it is called a graduation gown or academic gown with a mortarboard cap."

Malia turned to him with an indignant huff. "I am not panicking. I’m just...enthusiastic." She turned back to Ephyra with a dramatic flourish. "And as your self-appointed hype woman, it’s my job to make sure you shine."

Ephyra shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Fine, Malia. I’ll let you do your thing. What about your Mom? She came with you, right?"

Malia’s smile brightened, "Mom is probably scolding the Principal’s ears off over us, right Orla?"

Orla sighed, "Absolutely, or she is either manipulating him into helping her with something. Again."

"Mm, I’m sure she will be back soon." Malia grinned. "In the meantime, let’s focus on you. Orla, do you have the caps and gowns ready? We don’t want to be the ones holding up the procession."

Orla nodded, gesturing to a nearby rack where the neatly pressed graduation gowns and caps hung. "I made sure everything is in order. Ephyra, yours is on the end. I had them adjust it so it fits perfectly."

Ephyra raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Let me guess. This was Malia’s doing?"

Malia put a hand to her chest in mock offense. "How dare you accuse me of caring about the details? But yes, it was me. You’re welcome."

Ephyra sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. "Thanks, Malia. I appreciate it."

As Ephyra stepped toward the rack to retrieve her gown, the door to the room creaked open, and Malia’s mother entered, her sharp heels clicking against the polished floor. She was a striking woman, her presence commanding attention without effort. Dressed in an impeccably tailored gray suit and pants, she looked every bit the power figure she was known to be.

"Ah, there you all are," she said briskly, her eyes scanning the group before settling on Ephyra. Her lips quirked into a faint smile. "You must be Ephyra Allen, I’m Sophia Dellinger, the CEO of Dellinger Entertainment Company. Malia raves about you a lot at home, and even Orla who almost never says anything talks about you too. It is very hard to get Orla to talk, trust me, and it makes me even more interested in you."

Ephyra smiled, "I’m very honored, Mrs. Dellinger. Malia has been an... energetic advocate of mine, to say the least." Her tone carried a mix of sincerity and gentle humor, earning a quiet laugh from Orla and a playful scoff from Malia.

Sophia’s sharp eyes appraised Ephyra from head to toe, her smile growing faintly wider. "Malia is energetic, indeed. But I can see why. You have a certain... presence about you. That’s rare."

Ephyra inclined her head slightly, her posture straight. "Thank you. Coming from you, that means a lot."

Sophia’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before she turned her attention back to the group. "Now, let’s make sure we’re all ready. The ceremony is about to begin, and I don’t intend to let my daughters—or their friends—be anything less than prepared."

Malia grinned, clearly unfazed by her mother’s commanding tone. "We’re ready, Mom. I’ve made sure of it. Ephyra is going to be the highlight of the ceremony."

Sophia arched a skeptical eyebrow at her daughter. "The highlight should be the graduates as a whole, Malia, not one individual."

Malia waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, trust me, it’ll be both."

Sophia gave a small shake of her head but said nothing more, her attention shifting to Orla, who was already handing everyone their coats.

Cyran, watching the exchange with a smirk, stepped closer. "I think Malia’s right, though. Ephyra has a knack for unintentionally stealing the show. It’s kind of her thing."

Ephyra shot him a look, but her smile betrayed her amusement. "I think you’re confusing stealing the show with standing out because I’m surrounded by dramatic people."

"Pot, meet kettle," Cyran quipped, earning a chuckle from Malia and Orla.

As the group made their final adjustments, the distant sound of music and voices began to drift in from the auditorium. Sophia clapped her hands lightly to get their attention. "Alright, it’s time. Let’s move."

The group followed Sophia out of the dressing area, their laughter and chatter quieting as they got near the hall. Ephyra glanced at the others, her chest tightening slightly—not with nerves, but with a bittersweet mix of pride and nostalgia. This was a moment of transition for Ephyra or was it Eira? A milestone that marked not just the end of one Chapter for her but the beginning of another. Yet, she didn’t live long enough to witness it.

As they entered the main hall, the grandeur of the auditorium was breathtaking. Rows of seats were filled with students and their families, the air electric with excitement. The stage, adorned with fresh flowers and shimmering lights, stood as a beacon of achievement and hope. Ephyra’s gaze swept across the room, taking in the faces of her peers—some familiar, some distant.

Malia leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially, "Do you see that douchebag, Alan, and your pathetic stepsister?"

Ephyra really didn’t give a fuck about them but she couldn’t dismiss Malia, so she let her gaze follow Malia’s subtle nod toward a group near the front of the auditorium. Sure enough, there was Alan, looking as smug and self-assured as ever in his tailored suit. Beside him stood Myra, clad in a glittering gold dress that practically screamed for attention. Her honey-blonde hair was styled into perfect waves, and she was laughing at something Alan said, the picture of arrogance and entitlementbut to Ephyra, they were simply a pair of fucking pathetic and irrelevant people.

Malia, however, had no such reservations. "I swear, if looks could kill, you’d be charged with a double homicide right now," she muttered under her breath, earning a chuckle from Cyran.

"Let it go, Malia," Ephyra said calmly, her voice low but firm. "They don’t matter in any fucking way."

Malia looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. "They should matter, Ephyra. They deserve to see you like this—flawless, untouchable, and completely out of their league."