Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 117: Too Little, Too Late

Murmurs spread like wildfire, weaving through the crowd as students, and parents formed small clusters, their conversations growing more animated by the second. One table, occupied by Gold Class senior students and their families, had turned into a hub of whispers and judgmental glances.

"This isn’t even surprising," one of the girls, a petite brunette named Helena, said with a disdainful curl of her lip. "Myra’s always been vile. The audacity of her to act so high and mighty—it’s catching up with her."

"Exactly," chimed in Rina, her blonde hair gleaming under the lights. She leaned closer, her voice laced with venom. "She’s not just conceited and vicious; she’s also a cheap tramp. Imagine snatching her stepsister’s boyfriend and parading him around like a prize."

The third girl at the table, a wide-eyed redhead named Isla, blinked in curiosity. "But why would Alan go for her? What could she possibly offer him that her stepsister couldn’t?"

Rina smirked, her tone dripping with mock innocence. "Oh, Isla, you’re too naïve. What else could it be? She probably slept with him before they even started dating. I wouldn’t be surprised if she begged for it."

"Rina, that’s enough," a chubby, middle-aged woman with soft brown curls interjected firmly. Her tone made Rina flinch, though the girl rolled her eyes in protest.

"Mom," Rina whined, but the older woman silenced her with a stern look.

Helena, however, was undeterred. "Mrs. Carter, with all due respect, it’s not like we’re lying. Everyone knows what Myra’s like. It’s practically common knowledge."

The murmurs grew louder as more students and parents joined the conversation. Though many whispered, their words were far from subtle, and the crowd’s collective disdain began to take a tangible shape. Myra’s name was on everyone’s lips, paired with accusations that left her fuming in the corner, her composure unraveling by the second.

"I told you, it’s fake! It’s all lies!" Myra shrieked, her voice breaking with desperation as she yelled at a bewildered staff member. "I demand you take it down! Right now!"

Meanwhile, Alan stood frozen nearby, his pale face betraying his panic. His attempts to discreetly scroll through the blog were futile, as every update seemed to bring fresh humiliation. Whispers of his dirty deeds—the beating he orchestrated, the threats he made—were spreading as fast as the news about Myra.

At another table, a group of students burst into hushed laughter, their faces a mix of schadenfreude and amusement. "Did you see Alan’s face just now?" one of the boys asked, leaning back in his chair. "The mighty ’genius’ looks like he’s about to cry."

"I’d cry too if I got caught paying people to beat up kids," his friend added with a smirk. "And what’s worse is everyone knows now."

Not far away, parents of other students began to murmur in low, disapproving tones. "This is disgraceful," one father said, his jaw tight with anger. "How could someone like Alan Latham do this sort of thing? It’s hard to believe. He not only degraded himself and stained his family’s reputation, but he also tarnished the reputation of this school."

"And Myra?" another mother chimed in, her eyes narrowing. "I’ve always felt sorry for her stepsister. Who knows what that poor girl endured at Myra’s hands?"

Meanwhile, near the refreshment table, Malia, Cyran, and Orla stood watching the chaos unfold with barely concealed delight.

"Look at her," Malia muttered, nodding toward Myra, who was now in full meltdown mode. "She’s losing it. This is even better than I imagined."

Cyran smirked, swirling the champagne in his glass. "Alan’s no better. He looks like he’s about to pass out. It’s a beautiful thing."

Ephyra stood a few feet away, her expression calm but her eyes sharp as they swept over the scene. She took in every reaction, every frantic attempt by Myra and Alan to salvage their reputations, and every look of amusement or disdain from the crowd.

The Principal hurriedly stepped onto the stage, his face tense but composed, tapping the microphone to draw attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?" His voice echoed through the hall, gradually silencing the whispers and murmurs. "In light of recent developments, we’ll be concluding the reception here in the auditorium. I kindly ask everyone to make their way downstairs to the courtyard for the final part of the graduation tradition and to take photographs with your families."

The announcement was met with a mix of confusion and reluctance. Parents and students exchanged glances, some hesitating to leave while others began to shuffle toward the exits. The whispers persisted, weaving through the crowd like a persistent undercurrent.

Ephyra tilted her head slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips as she watched the Principal attempt to regain control of the event. "Damage control," she murmured under her breath, her tone amused.

Cyran chuckled beside her. "Too little, too late. The cat’s out of the bag."

Malia folded her arms, her gaze fixed on the chaos still unfolding. "They’ll leave the hall, sure, but the damage won’t stay here. This is the kind of scandal that follows people everywhere."

"Good," Ephyra said simply, her voice cool and detached. "It should."

As the crowd began filing out, Alan and Myra were left stranded in the center of it all, their desperation palpable. Myra attempted to save face, tugging at Alan’s arm and whispering furiously, but her efforts were in vain. Alan, pale and shaken, remained rooted to the spot, unable to meet the gazes of those passing by.

When Ephyra and her friends reached the exit, Malia glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a sly grin. "That was great, Ephyra. I loved it."

Ephyra didn’t respond, her eyes lingering on Alan and Myra one last time before stepping into the warm afternoon air. The courtyard was already bustling with families, the soft hum of polite conversation mingling with laughter as graduates posed for pictures. The perfect backdrop for celebration.

Ephyra joined her group near one of the garden paths, the sunlight casting a glow over their leaves and flowers. Malia leaned against a low stone wall, scrolling through her phone. "The blog’s gone viral. People are sharing screenshots everywhere. Even if the school takes it down, it’s too late."

Cyran smirked, holding up his own phone. "I just got three texts about it from people who weren’t even here. This is spreading like wildfire."

Orla sighed, though there was a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. "I’d almost feel sorry for them if they hadn’t done everything they’re being accused of."

"Almost," Ephyra said, her voice dry. "But not quite."