Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 144: Equally Similar

"So, what are you going to do now?" Jania asked, leaning back in her chair as she delicately sipped her tea.

Ephyra glanced at her plate, idly cutting into her food as if it were a tedious chore rather than a meal. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she finally spoke. "I’m going to call Malia and set up a meeting with the rest of the group. They deserve the truth." She stabbed a forkful of her meal and paused before continuing. "She called me earlier, and... it made me feel like shit. I know I couldn’t tell them everything before—at least not without piling on confusion and distrust. But now that it’s out in the open, there’s no excuse."

Jania set her cup down gently, her gaze sharp yet understanding. "Are you sure you’re ready for that? Facing them, I mean. Apologies can be more difficult than exposing the truth."

Ephyra’s grip tightened around her fork, her knuckles turning white for a brief moment. "I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Malia didn’t say it outright, but I could hear the hurt in her voice. She didn’t understand why I’d kept her in the dark—and honestly, I don’t blame her. I’ve been so focused on tearing everything down that I didn’t stop to think about them for a moment." frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

Jania arched an eyebrow, "Alright, good luck."

"Hmm."

After breakfast, Ephyra paced her room, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. The call she needed to make weighed heavily on her, but she couldn’t put it off any longer. Finally, she pressed the button and waited as the line rang.

"Ephyra?" Malia’s voice came through almost instantly, breathless with anticipation.

Ephyra hesitated, her grip tightening on the phone. "Malia," she began, her voice low but steady. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you what was going on, for shutting you out when I should’ve let you in."

"No," Malia interrupted quickly, her voice soft but insistent. "Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. None of this is. We should have been the ones to see something was wrong. I’m just relieved you’re not pushing us away now."

Ephyra closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. "I’m not," she said quietly. "And that’s why I’m calling. I need to talk to you, Orla, and Cyran—face-to-face. There’s a lot I need to say, and you all deserve to hear it."

"Of course," Malia said, her tone immediately brightening with relief. "I’ll tell Orla and call Cyran. Once we’ve figured out a time, I’ll let you know."

Ephyra paused, imagining Malia already hurrying off to find Orla, the faint sound of her footsteps echoing through the phone. "Thank you," she said finally. "I’ll be expecting your call."

Malia hesitated, her voice softer when she spoke again. "You don’t want to talk to Orla now?"

"No," Ephyra replied, her tone resolute. "It’s better if we do this in person."

"Alright," Malia said, the faintest hint of a smile in her voice. "I’ll take care of everything. See you soon."

"See you soon," Ephyra murmured. "Bye."

Malia ended the call, and Ephyra lowered the phone from her ear, exhaling a long, shaky breath. For a moment, she stood still, staring at the screen before placing the phone down on the nightstand. The call had gone smoother than she’d expected, but the weight of the upcoming meeting still pressed heavily on her.

She turned to the window, her gaze distant as she whispered, almost to herself, "It’s time to face them."

———

Malia all but rushed into Orla’s room, her excitement barely contained.

Orla looked up from the laptop balanced on her bundled quilt, her brow furrowing as she took in Malia’s breathless grin. "What happened?"

Malia practically bounced onto the bed, tucking her legs beneath her as she settled in. Her eyes were bright, her energy infectious. "I called Ephyra earlier this morning. She answered!"

Orla blinked, her surprise evident. "She answered? Really? How did it go?" She closed the laptop slowly, her curiosity piqued.

"It went better than I expected!" Malia said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "She apologized for not telling us what was happening and said she wants to meet with all of us. Face-to-face. To talk. I agreed, of course, so now we just need to call Cyran, figure out a place, and send her the address."

Orla nodded, her expression softening into something more contemplative. "She wants to meet us in person?"

"Yes!" Malia’s grin widened as she leaned forward, her enthusiasm undiminished. "It’s huge, Orla. You know how Ephyra can be—she wouldn’t do this unless it really mattered. She wants to talk. To all of us."

Orla sighed and leaned back against the headboard. "Alright. I get it. But why are you here?"

"To get you moving, of course!" Malia shot her a pointed look. "Aren’t you going to get dressed? We don’t have all day."

Orla arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You literally just told me this five seconds ago. What do you want me to do—transform into an outfit on the spot?"

Malia rolled her eyes and hopped off the bed, already reaching for her phone. "Fine, fine. I’ll call Cyran while you get ready. But hurry up, okay? I’m not taking forever, and you shouldn’t either." She paused by the door, throwing Orla a mischievous grin. "Fifteen minutes, max. That’s all you’ve got."

Orla groaned, throwing her head back. "Why do you make everything a race?"

"Because you’re too slow!" Malia called over her shoulder as she walked out, already calling Cyran’s number. "Fifteen minutes, Orla. Don’t make me come back in here to drag you out!"

Orla sighed deeply, shaking her head. "Bye, Malia."

"Bye!" Malia’s voice echoed from the hallway, her footsteps retreating as she prepared to drag Cyran into the whirlwind she’d just created.

Left in the sudden quiet, Orla swung her legs off the bed and stood up, muttering to herself as she rifled through her closet. "It’s just Ephyra. Why do I feel like I’m about to walk into some kind of emotional ambush?"

As she picked out an outfit, her mind wandered, turning over the possibility of what this meeting could mean for all of them. It wasn’t just the words Ephyra would say—though those would no doubt carry weight.

Orla dressed quickly, her figure appearing calm.

By the time she finished, Malia’s voice was already filtering through the hallway again, louder now as she returned with a triumphant smile. "Cyran’s in. He’s just as excited as we are, maybe even more. Now, come on, Orla! Let’s figure out where we’re meeting before Ephyra changes her mind."

Orla gave her an exasperated look but followed her out of the room.

|Thirty Minutes Later|

The black SUV came to a smooth stop in front of a charming garden-themed restaurant. The cobblestone driveway was lined with vibrant greenery and flowers, their colors vivid even in the faint morning sunlight. Two black sedans, carrying their bodyguards, parked close behind.

Orla glanced at the building through the tinted window before turning to Malia, a single brow arched. "This is the place you chose?"

Malia leaned forward to get a better look, her lips curving into an amused smile. "Nope. Cyran picked it," she admitted, her tone breezy. "He said it’s close to his place, and it has good food, flowers, and a great vibe. Honestly, I think it’s perfect."

Orla’s skeptical gaze lingered on the restaurant’s façade. "Right. Really perfect," she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she pushed the car door open and stepped out.

Malia followed, the loose fabric of her oversized outfit billowing lightly in the cool breeze. She wore a beige cropped blazer that hung effortlessly over a slinky black tank top, paired with high-waisted, wide-leg denim that pooled slightly over her platform boots. A thin gold chain rested on her collarbone, catching the light when she moved, and her brown curly hair was parked into a sleek ponytail.

Orla, in contrast, exuded an edgier vibe. Her black leather jacket, adorned with silver zippers, added a rebellious flair to her look. She paired it with a high-neck black crop top and oversized, ripped black jeans over her chunky boots. Two silver hoop earrings dangled from her ear, and her long black hair framed her face perfectly. Together, the two of them were strikingly different yet equally similar.

As they walked toward the restaurant entrance, the rich scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass greeted them. Orla couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose slightly, not entirely convinced about the choice of venue. "A garden-themed restaurant," she muttered under her breath. "What is Cyran trying to do, have a picnic?"

Malia heard her and chuckled, nudging her with an elbow. "Lighten up, Orla. It’s a meeting, not an interrogation."

The pair stepped into the airy space, the interior a harmonious blend of rustic wood and glass walls that allowed natural light to flood in. Vibrant greenery hung from the ceiling in planters, while bursts of colorful flowers decorated the tables.

"There," Malia said suddenly, her voice brightening as she spotted a familiar figure waving at them from across the room.

Orla followed her gaze and saw Cyran standing near a table by the far window, his arm raised in greeting. His tall frame was easy to pick out in the room’s soft, natural hues. Malia grabbed Orla’s arm, practically dragging her toward him.

"Cyran better has picked something good on the menu," Orla muttered, earning a laugh from Malia as they weaved through the tables.

—-

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