Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 130: Always Be Nothing

"Yo, this is insane! The masquerade ball just turned into the trial of the century," one student commented into his camera.

"Ephyra’s been playing the long game," another added in her livestream. "Look at her up there. Cool as ice while everyone else is losing their minds. Respect."

"I knew there was something off about that Marianna woman," a middle-aged man said loudly, glaring at her as she wept. "She always seemed too over the top, self-entitled, and arrogant."

"And Myra," a woman beside him sneered.

"That girl tormented my niece at school. I hope she gets what’s coming to her."

"Eliot isn’t blameless," another guest interjected. "He brought this woman into his home without seeing the damage she’d cause. And to think he allowed his real daughter to suffer!"

As the noise grew louder, more and more guests turned their attention back to Ephyra.

"She’s like a completely different person," one woman said in awe. "I never imagined she could be this composed."

"Timid Ephyra?" another man scoffed. "She’s commanding that stage like she owns it. The way she presented the evidence, the way she spoke—it’s like watching a master at work."

The room buzzed with energy as the revelations continued to sink in, each person interpreting the night’s events in their own way.

Meanwhile, Malia sat still in her seat, her brows furrowing deeper with each passing moment, much like Cyran beside her.

Everyone knew the Ephyra of the past—shy, quiet, and undeniably kind. But that was before the accident, the one where she had died and somehow returned to life. Afterward, everything about her changed. She wasn’t extroverted or overly enthusiastic, but she was no longer timid, nor could anyone call her kind.

Malia had always believed that, despite the change, the current Ephyra was still a good, simple person. But tonight shattered those beliefs. Watching Ephyra act and speak with such precision and cold confidence was like seeing an entirely different person. Her grip tightened around the wine glass in her hand.

Had it all been an act? Was everything Ephyra had done just a calculated move to get her revenge? Their friendship, their first meeting—

Malia let out a soft, bitter laugh, almost to herself. Why had she never thought of it before? Everything had been too much of a coincidence. Malia stepping on the paper, the blog post—it all seemed orchestrated now, as if it had unfolded exactly the way Ephyra had planned.

Her gaze shifted back to Ephyra, who stood on the stage, staring at her father and stepmother with barely concealed disgust and ridicule.

A hand landed on her arm, snapping her out of her thoughts. Malia turned to see Orla staring at her with quiet concern.

"It’s alright," Orla said softly. "Don’t think too much about it, Malia."

Malia said nothing, merely nodding before turning her attention back to the stage, her thoughts still racing.

Ephyra sighed audibly, breaking the growing tension in the room. Tilting her head slightly, she rolled her neck, as though loosening the weight of the scene before her. Her gaze shifted between the three people before her—Eliot, Marianna, and Myra—before she finally spoke, her voice laced with icy detachment.

"Are you all done?"

The ballroom fell silent as Ephyra’s voice sliced through the air. Her gaze swept over the three, her expression one of thinly veiled disdain.

"Well?" she continued, raising an eyebrow as if addressing unruly children. "Have you said your piece, or shall I wait while you come up with more lies to excuse your crimes?"

Marianna, still on the floor, whimpered softly but dared not meet Ephyra’s eyes. Myra wiped her tears frantically, her lips trembling, but no words came out. Eliot, on the other hand, took a deep breath, his face shadowed with shame and anger.

"Ephyra," he began, his voice strained. "I—I owe you an apology. For everything. For failing you as a father, for allowing—"

Ephyra raised a hand, cutting him off. "Save it. Your apologies mean nothing to me, Eliot." She deliberately used his first name, a subtle yet powerful dismissal of his authority in her life. "You were blind. Blind to the suffering in your own home, blind to the woman you married, and blind to the daughter you neglected. And now, you think an apology will fix everything?" She scoffed, "Spare me your stupid fucking remorse. It’s far too late for that."

Besides, she wasn’t the one he was supposed to apologize to. That person was long dead, all because of his failure.

The crowd murmured, her words hitting like a hammer. Even Eliot, a man accustomed to giving orders, seemed diminished under her gaze. He nodded reluctantly, his shoulders sagging.

Ephyra turned her attention to Myra, her eyes narrowing. "And you." Her voice dripped with scorn. "The pampered little princess who thought she could do no wrong. You bullied me, humiliated me, and laughed at my pain. You enjoyed every moment of it, didn’t you?"

"Fuck you, Ephyra! I hate you! I wish you’d just died!" Myra stood up and hurried towards her with reckless fury, her fists clenched and her face twisted with rage. The crowd gasped, some stepping back as if anticipating violence, but Ephyra didn’t move. She stood still, her expression calm, almost amused, as Myra stumbled toward her.

Before Myra could get too close, one of the security guards stepped in, grabbing her arms and holding her back. She thrashed in his grip, screaming incoherent insults, her composure completely gone.

"Let me go! Let me go! She’s ruined everything—everything! She doesn’t deserve to stand there like she’s better than me!" Myra screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of her despair. "You think you’re so perfect, don’t you, Ephyra? Well, you’re not! You’re a freak, a fraud, and everyone knows it!"

Ephyra finally moved, stepping forward until she was only a few feet away from Myra. She tilted her head, studying the girl as if she were an insect pinned to a board.

"You’re right, Myra," Ephyra said, her tone deceptively soft. "I am a freak. But do you know what sets me apart from you?" She paused, letting the question hang in the air. Myra didn’t stop struggling, her tear-streaked face contorted with anger. However, not many expected Ephyra to raise her hands and slap Myra across the face, twice shocking Myra and making her go still.

"I own it," Ephyra continued, her eyes gleaming with cold fire. "I don’t hide behind lies, manipulation, or a stolen identity. You and your mother—" She gestured toward Marianna, who was still sobbing on the floor. "—built your lives on a foundation of deceit. And now, that foundation has crumbled. The truth is out, and you have nothing left. No name. No legacy. Nothing."

Myra’s lips trembled, and for a moment, it seemed as if she might try to attack again. But the weight of Ephyra’s words, coupled with the judging stares of the crowd, left her paralyzed.

"You’ll never recover from this," Ephyra added, her voice like a dagger. "And that’s the difference between us. I survived. I adapt. And I rise above. While you? You’ll fade into obscurity, forgotten and irrelevant." She leaned in closer, her next words a venomous whisper. "You’ll always be nothing."