Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 145: Dumb Bastard

Stopping in front of the square wooden table, Malia let go of Orla’s arm and beamed at Cyran, who was dressed impeccably in a fitted dark green button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, paired with tailored black slacks. His black wavy hair was styled neatly, framing his delicate features. He greeted them with a wide smile, his eyes briefly lingering on each of them in turn.

"Glad you both made it," Cyran said. "I thought I’d have to call Malia again to make sure she didn’t lose you, Orla."

Orla smirked, crossing her arms as she slid into one of the chairs. "I’m here, aren’t I? Though I have to say, this place is way too cheerful for what I’m assuming is going to be an intense conversation."

Malia nudged Orla’s shoulder lightly before taking a seat next to her. "I think it’s perfect. The food will make everything easier to digest—literally and emotionally."

Cyran shrugged, amused, and leaned back in his chair. "I picked it because it’s quiet. No distractions, no interruptions. We can talk freely here." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Orla raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. She glanced out the window at the garden, where small fountains gurgled softly, their sound faintly audible through the glass. "Alright, Cyran. You’ve set everything perfectly. Let’s see how the conversation unfolds."

Malia shot him an approving smile. "She’s not wrong, though. Thanks for handling this."

Cyran shook his head in response before his gaze shifted toward the entrance. "We’re not done yet. We’re still waiting for her."

Malia turned her head, and Orla followed, both of them falling silent as they watched Ephyra step through the door.

Ephyra paused just inside the entrance, scanning the room until her gaze landed on them.

When her eyes locked on theirs, she squared her shoulders and strode toward the table with purpose. The hesitation that had haunted her earlier seemed to dissipate with every step, replaced by a quiet determination.

As she approached, Cyran rose to his feet. Malia followed suit, her expression a mix of relief, curiosity, and apprehension. Orla, ever the skeptic, stayed seated but watched Ephyra intently, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read her.

"Ephyra," Cyran greeted, his tone steady but warm. "You made it."

Ephyra nodded, her lips curving into the faintest semblance of a smile. "Of course. Thank you for coming."

"Like we’d miss this," Malia said, stepping forward to pull her into a brief but tight hug. "I’m so glad you’re here."

Ephyra returned the hug lightly, her hands lingering for just a moment before she pulled away. "Thanks, Malia."

As she took her seat across from them, the tension in the air thickened, the weight of unspoken words settling over the group. Ephyra placed her hands on the table, her fingers clasped together tightly as she exhaled a slow breath.

"I know this isn’t easy," she began, her voice quiet but steady. "For any of us. But I owe you the truth. No more half-answers or evasions. You deserve to know everything—about me, about what’s been happening, and why I kept you in the dark."

Malia leaned forward, her hands folded on the table, her expression a mixture of patience and eagerness. Orla, on the other hand, leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed as she studied Ephyra silently. Cyran remained composed, his focus unwavering.

"Take your time," Cyran said, his voice calm and reassuring. "We’re here to listen."

Ephyra nodded, her grip on her hands tightening slightly before she began to speak. "It started long before any of you knew me. Since I was a little kid. And it’s about more than just me—it’s about my mom, my family. But I promise, I’ll explain everything."

The words hung in the air like a vow, and for a moment, no one spoke. Then Malia reached out, her hand brushing Ephyra’s briefly, her touch warm and grounding.

"Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together," she said softly.

Ephyra’s lips parted slightly, her gaze flickering to Malia’s hand before meeting her eyes. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Orla’s skeptical gaze softened just a fraction, though her tone remained sharp. "Alright, Ephyra. You’ve got the floor. Let’s hear it."

Ephyra leaned back slightly, her posture straightening as if bracing herself. "It’s not going to be easy to hear," she warned, her voice calm but carrying an edge of unease. "And I don’t expect you to forgive me or even understand everything. I just... I need to say it."

The group sat in a tense silence, the weight of her words settling heavily. Cyran, who had remained silent thus far, finally spoke. "We’re not here to judge, Ephyra. Just tell us the truth."

Ephyra took a deep breath and began. "When my mom died, my life turned upside down. My father remarried, and that’s when everything started to change. At first, Marianna and Myra seemed nice—like they were trying to help me adjust. But it wasn’t long before they showed their true colors. They resented me. They saw me as an obstacle."

Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. "It started with small—harsh words, subtle exclusion. But then... then it got worse. Myra took every chance to humiliate me, and Marianna took every chance to hurt me just to vent her frustration because of the hate she had for my mother. Remember I mentioned that she caused my mom’s death? Well, she did, but that didn’t diminish the envy she felt even after her death, only because my mom gave birth to me with Eliot. They controlled everything—my clothes, my food, even who I could talk to. My father didn’t care. As long as Marianna kept him happy, he looked the other way."

Malia’s hands clenched into fists, her knuckles turning white. "That’s horrible," she whispered, her voice trembling with anger. "How could they do that to you? And your dad—how could he just let it happen? Right, he is a dumb bastard."

"Malia," Orla glanced at her.

"What? I’m right, aren’t I? We were all there last night and witnessed everything. And you know damn well that he was also at fault."

Ephyra sighed, her fingers unclasping slightly as she leaned back in her chair. Her eyes, though steady, betrayed the years of pain and anger she had endured. "You’re not wrong, Malia. My father wasn’t innocent. He was complicit in his silence. And maybe that’s what hurt the most—knowing that the one person who was supposed to protect me, to care for me, just... didn’t."

Cyran’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched on the table. "He deserves everything that’s coming to him," he muttered, his tone dark. "But it’s not just him. Marianna, Myra, Alan—they all deserve to rot for what they’ve done to you."

Ephyra’s lips pressed into a thin line. "They will pay," she said, her voice cold and resolute. "I made sure of it. Last night wasn’t just about exposing them—it was about taking back my life. For too long, I let them control me, let them dictate who I was. Not anymore."

Orla tilted her head, her sharp gaze fixed on Ephyra. "But what about us? Where do we fit into this? You didn’t just shut them out—you shut us out too."

Ephyra looked at her, guilt flickering in her eyes. "I know," she admitted softly. "And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you all away, but... I didn’t know how to let you in. I was scared. Scared that if you saw the real me, the past, broken me, you’d walk away. And I couldn’t handle that."

Malia reached across the table, taking Ephyra’s hand in hers. "You should have trusted us," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "We would have been there for you. We still are."

Orla sighed, her posture relaxing slightly. "It’s not about us being angry, Ephyra. We just... we wanted to help. And it hurts knowing you felt like you couldn’t rely on us."

Ephyra’s grip tightened around Malia’s hand. "I know. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for that if I have to. But I’m here now, and I’m ready to let you in. If you’ll still have me."

Cyran leaned forward, his expression softening as he looked at Ephyra. "You’re our friend, Ephyra. No matter what’s happened, that hasn’t changed. And if you’re ready to let us in, we’ll be here."

Ephyra’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile—the first they’d seen in a long time. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "You don’t know how much that means to me."

Malia grinned, brushing away the tears that threatened to fall. "Well, it’s about time. Now, can we get some food? All this emotional stuff is exhausting."

The tension in the air eased as the group chuckled, the weight of their earlier conversation lifting slightly. Ephyra nodded, her smile lingering as she gestured toward the menu. "Let’s eat. We have a lot to talk about, and I’m not going anywhere this time."

As they began to discuss lighter topics, the bond between them started to mend, thread by thread. And though the road ahead would be long and uncertain, for the first time in a long time, Ephyra felt like she wasn’t facing it alone.