Transmigrated Into The True Heiress

They ate and chatted, the conversation shifting between lighthearted jokes and unspoken reassurances. The tension from earlier had eased, replaced by the familiar comfort of old friendships. Before they knew it, noon had arrived, and they found themselves standing beside their cars, the warmth of the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the pavement.

Malia leaned against her car, arms crossed. "So, what’s next for you? Where are you staying? You didn’t go back to your father’s house, did you?"

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Ephyra shook her head. "No, I didn’t. I’m staying with an old friend."

Cyran’s brows furrowed slightly. "An old friend?"

"Do you know them well?" Malia added, her voice laced with concern. "I mean, are you close?"

Before Ephyra could respond, Orla cut in, her tone practical. "You could stay with us if you want. Or, if you prefer, my mom can set up an apartment for you."

Malia nodded eagerly. "Yes! Mom wouldn’t mind at all—"

Ephyra raised a hand, stopping her before she could finish. "I appreciate the offer, really. But I trust them. We’ve known each other for a long time, and we’re very close—like family. So there’s no need to worry."

Malia blinked, as if processing the words. "Oh."

Ephyra offered a small smile. "But thank you. It means a lot."

Cyran shook his head, smirking. "No need to thank us."