Ella_Estrella23

Eira Kingston, a feared assassin, never imagined that death would lead her to transmigrate into the body of Ephyra Allen, the disgraced first daughter of the once-powerful Allen family. But what shocked her even more was the soft mechanical voice in her mind, addressing her as "master" and informing her that her soul had returned to its original body.

Eira dismissed the strange voice, thinking she was having a post-death hallucination. But waking up in a hospital, with memories that weren’t hers flooding back, she was forced to confront the truth.

Ephyra’s life had been nothing short of a nightmare. Despite being the legitimate daughter, she was labeled a bastard, shunned by all, and overshadowed by her scheming stepsister, who had stolen the love of her father and her betrothed. To make matters worse, the wealth and status the Allen family enjoyed were all thanks to Ephyra’s late mother, and the only reason she hadn’t been discarded entirely was due to her mother’s inheritance, locked away until she turned eighteen.

But Eira wasn’t one to be defeated by circumstances. If she was going to live Ephyra’s life, she would do so on her own terms. She would destroy those who had caused Ephyra pain, claim the inheritance that was rightfully hers, and find out who was behind her own death. Because if there was one thing Eira knew how to do well, it was to survive—and make her enemies pay.

However, being a high-schooler with nothing to her name wasn’t enough. As Ephyra, she’s powerless, but as an assassin, she’s lethal. Still, even that wasn't enough until she became the contracted wife of Lyle Aelion—a powerful, enigmatic figure in the business world with a secret illness. And it turns out, the only thing that can relieve him is her scent.

Transmigrated Into The True Heiress

Ephyra smiled, "She is. Impressively deceptive."

Malia raised a brow, intrigued. "Deceptive? How so?"

Ephyra tilted her glass slightly, watching the champagne bubble. "It's in her tone, her choice of words. She wants everyone to see perfection—an unshakable image of harmony and progress. But perfection is a mask. And masks, no matter how finely crafted, always crack under pressure."

Orla, who had been quietly observing, leaned in as well. "So you think there's something off about this partnership?"

Ephyra's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "What do you think?"

"I think it's all a charade," Malia said smugly, raising her chin.

Orla scoffed, "Yeah, Sherlock Holmes, tell us something we don't know." She swirled her wine glass lazily, her gaze flicking toward Leandra Latham, who was now engaged in polite conversation with a group of senior executives. "But it's one thing to suspect and another to prove it."

Charade