Transmigrated Into The True Heiress

Alan and Myra walked out of the hotel, Alan hauling their compact suitcases in one hand. The strained silence between them was thick, weighing down like a palpable tension as they moved through the hotel’s grand, opulent lobby. Both were lost in their own thoughts: Alan was consumed by worry, unease, and anger at himself, while Myra was worried, regretful, and hopeful.

Alan’s face was drawn and tight, his jaw clenched as he wheeled their suitcases, his eyes flicking down to the polished floor as though the answers might be hidden in the tiles. A fog of guilt and confusion clouded his mind, each memory slipping further away the harder he tried to grasp it. Beside him, Myra walked stiffly, her expression guarded. Beneath her controlled demeanor, a storm of anger and triumph twisted together, though she kept her features schooled into a look of quiet suffering.

As they reached the hotel’s entrance, a cheerful attendant approached, offering a polite smile. "I hope you both had a wonderful stay with us," she said warmly. "Wishing you a safe journey home, and we look forward to welcoming you back in the future."

Alan managed a tight-lipped smile, nodding politely. "Thank you," he replied, his voice softer than usual, almost as if he felt he didn’t deserve the courtesy.

He stepped forward, opening the car door for Myra with a hesitance that didn’t go unnoticed. Myra slid into the back seat without meeting his gaze, positioning herself close to the window, as if placing physical space between them might also help alleviate the suffocating tension.

Once Alan settled into the car beside her, he glanced her way, but she continued to stare out the window, her expression unreadable. As the car began to move, the silence between them deepened, with the low hum of the engine the only sound accompanying them.

After more than an hour, the car finally pulled up in front of the Allen mansion. As Myra stepped out, the driver retrieved her luggage from the trunk. She collected her bags and turned toward the house, but Alan reached out, catching her wrist and pulling her back, his eyes brimming with remorse and desperation.

"Myra, wait," he pleaded, his grip tightening slightly on her suitcase. "You know it wasn’t entirely my fault. We were both drunk. You heard what the hotel staff said, right? That wine was one of the strongest wines they had because it was old, and we finished the whole bottle. They said that’s why we can’t remember what happened last night."

He leaned closer, his voice laced with regret. "You know how much I love you, how much I want you. I swear, I didn’t mean for this to happen."

Myra bit her lip, her gaze cast down to hide the storm flickering in her eyes. Finally, she nodded with a stiff, expressionless look. "I’ll let you know once I’ve taken the test." Her voice was cold as she slipped her hand from his grip, turning and striding toward the house.

Eira watched the scene unfold from her bedroom window, an amused smile curving her lips. She noted the raw frustration in Alan’s face and the flicker of distaste in Myra’s expression as she pulled away.