Transmigrated Into The True Heiress

Celine glared at her before turning back to the manager with a mocking sneer. "You expect me to believe that she’s somehow connected to Lyle Aelion?" She let out a derisive laugh. "How stupid are you? So this boutique doesn’t just accept pathetic little nobodies, but also shameless liars?"

The manager remained composed, but a flicker of irritation crossed her features.

Celine, however, wasn’t finished. She whirled around and marched toward Ephyra, her heels clicking against the marble floor with each angry step.

"And you—" she spat, her voice dripping with contempt, "how dare you even think of using Lyle Aelion’s name to elevate yourself? Do you have any idea who he is?" Her eyes burned with rage as she leaned closer, voice lowering into a sharp whisper. "Men like him wouldn’t even spare a glance at a disgrace like you."

Ephyra didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink. Instead, she studied Celine with cool detachment, as if she were nothing more than a particularly dull inconvenience. Then, with agonizing slowness, she tilted her head, lips curving into a lazy, amused smile.

"Oh?" she murmured, her tone laced with deliberate condescension. "Is that what you think?"

Celine’s nostrils flared. "That’s what I know."

Ephyra exhaled softly, shaking her head as if disappointed. "It’s fascinating, really," she mused, tracing the rim of her teacup with a manicured finger. "The way you speak with such certainty, as if you have even the faintest idea of what you’re talking about."

Celine’s hands curled into fists. "Don’t you dare—"

Ephyra cut her off effortlessly, her voice dropping to a silken purr. "Tell me, darling... do you often speak for men who’ve never acknowledged your existence?"

Jania choked on a laugh.