Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 123: Stiff And Rehearsed

The first segment of the evening unfolded as the school’s official event. The ballroom’s ambiance shifted slightly as an announcer’s voice rang out, calling the attention of the guests to the podium at the front of the room. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow, accentuating the gilded lectern where an alumnus prepared to deliver a speech.

The emcee’s voice resonated: "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to welcome one of our most accomplished alumni, Dr. Gerald Thorne—a celebrated researcher and, though he refuses to admit it, a man with an unparalleled sense of humor. Dr. Thorne, the stage is yours."

A polite wave of laughter rippled through the room as Dr. Thorne—a man in his late forties with graying hair and a charming, self-deprecating smile—took the podium. He adjusted his tie and tapped the microphone, feigning confusion.

"Is this thing on?" he quipped, earning a few chuckles. "Ah, there we go. I wouldn’t want to start my speech without the promise of embarrassing myself in front of the most important people in the city."

The crowd chuckled again, and he grinned, encouraged. "Good evening, everyone. I’m Dr. Gerald Thorne, class of 2002—though I prefer to say ’Class of Forever Young,’ because it feels less like a countdown to retirement."

Laughter bubbled up once more, and Gerald leaned casually against the podium. "When I was asked to give a speech tonight, I thought, ’Why me? Surely someone more dignified, eloquent, and less likely to tell an inappropriate joke would be a better choice.’ But then I remembered the reason we’re all here tonight: connection. Not just the connections we forge in our careers, but the ones we carry in our hearts. Or, as my mother would say, the people who will call you out on your nonsense at a masquerade ball."

The room erupted into warm laughter.

He continued with a playful but poignant tone. "On a serious note, what makes events like this so special is how they remind us of the legacy we’re building—whether it’s in science, business, art, or, in my case, how to spill coffee on a million-dollar lab instrument. True story."

The audience laughed louder, clearly enjoying his approachable humor.

Dr. Thorne’s tone softened. "But tonight isn’t just about reflecting on the past. It’s about celebrating the future, especially for our wonderful couple, Alan and Myra. Congratulations on your engagement. May your union be as strong as the wireless signal at Aelion Laboratories and as brilliant as Latham’s patented LED technology."

Polite applause and chuckles rippled through the audience as Alan and Myra forced gracious smiles, though Ephyra noticed a flicker of discomfort in Myra’s expression.

"And speaking of brilliance, a round of applause for the partnership between Aelion and Latham Laboratories—two powerhouses uniting for innovation that will shape tomorrow. Just don’t forget to name the first invention after me—it’s only fair."

The applause grew as Dr. Thorne stepped back from the podium, bowing theatrically before shaking hands with the emcee. The speech was well-received, leaving the crowd in high spirits as the event transitioned into the awards ceremony.

The emcee returned to the stage, his voice enthusiastic as he announced, "And now, it’s time to recognize some truly extraordinary individuals. Tonight, we’re presenting awards for achievements that go beyond academics, honoring creativity, community impact, and entrepreneurial spirit."

The first award, for Excellence in Innovation, went to a young woman named Clara Whitmore, who had designed a sustainable energy grid for rural communities. As she walked to the stage, the room buzzed with admiration, her green gown shimmering under the lights.

Next came the Philanthropic Leadership Award, presented to an older gentleman, Mr. Desmond Crane, for his contributions to education funding. He gave a heartfelt speech about the importance of lifting others through opportunity.

Finally, the Trailblazer Award was given to none other than Cyran’s mother herself, in recognition of her strategic ventures in technology and resource management. The announcement caused a stir, whispers intensifying as Mrs. Carver ascended the stage. Her acceptance speech was brief, thanking the committee with a graceful smile.

"It’s an honor to be recognized," she concluded, her gaze warm as she smiled at Cyran, who smiled back at her, his eyes wet. "But I believe this is only the beginning, as everything I do is for my son."

Mrs. Carver descended from the stage to thunderous applause. Cyran’s face was a mixture of pride and emotion as she returned to the table. Ephyra noticed the slight tremble in his hands as he clapped, but he quickly masked it with a composed expression.

"You must be proud," Ephyra remarked softly as Mrs. Carver took her seat.

Cyran nodded, his voice low. "More than I can say. She’s worked her entire life for moments like this."

Malia, never one to stay serious for too long, leaned closer with a mischievous grin. "Well, Cyran, looks like you’ve got big shoes to fill. Think you can follow in her footsteps?"

Cyran smirked, though his gaze remained thoughtful. "If I can achieve even half of what she has, I’d consider it a success."

Before the conversation could continue, a soft chime echoed through the room, signaling the transition to the evening’s next segment. The orchestra began to play a waltz, and the floor cleared as couples moved to take their places for the first dance.

Ephyra took a sip of her champagne, her eyes scanning the room. Alan and Myra had joined the dancers, their movements stiff and rehearsed. Despite their smiles, there was a tension between them that only someone paying close attention would notice. Ephyra’s lips curled into a faint smirk as she watched them.

"You’re plotting again," Malia teased, nudging Ephyra gently.

Ephyra raised an eyebrow. "Always. You should know that by now."

She was approached by a tall, dark-haired man in a midnight-blue suit. His mask covered much of his face, but his charm was evident in his confident stance.

"Miss Allen," he said, bowing slightly. "Would you honor me with a dance?"