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Transmigrated Into The True Heiress

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.

Ella_Estrella23 · Urban
Not enough ratings
61 Chs

Rest Easy

The night in California bustled like any other night, the various sounds of night life punctuated by the occasional hum of distant traffic and the warm glow of streetlights reflecting off the asphalt. The sleek black car cut through the streets, heading down Santa Monica Boulevard toward the Peninsula Beverly Hills, its shadow rippling over the buildings as it passed. Inside, in the backseat, a woman sat silently, her face partially illuminated by the city lights streaming through the window. The light curved around her face, subtly dividing it with a blend of shadows and soft illumination. Her left eye, the gentle waves of her black hair falling to her shoulders, and her forehead were touched by the glow, while her right eye, nose, and mouth remained shrouded in darkness.