Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 39: Principal Snoop

Eira considered Orla’s words. She knew people like Arabella—people who were hurting and, instead of finding a way to heal, spread their pain like poison.

Malia, still grinning, gave a mock applause. "Bravo, Orla. Looks like someone’s got her claws out today." She leaned back, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Cyran, however, wasn’t amused. He set his fork down. "That’s harsh. You don’t know what it’s like for her. You don’t know what she’s been through."

"And neither do you," Orla shot back, crossing her arms. "But I do know the kind of person she is. I’ve seen her bully others for no reason, pick fights just because she’s angry, and treat her so-called friends like disposable objects. A tragic backstory doesn’t justify being a terrible person."

Eira felt a tug of discomfort at their words. It was a sentiment she had wrestled with herself, towards her sister —where the line was between understanding someone’s pain and excusing their actions. There was no clear answer, only shades of grey that seemed to twist and blur the more she thought about them.

"That’s enough," she said quietly, cutting off the tense silence that had fallen over the group. "Whatever her reasons are, she’s clearly going through something. And from the looks of it, things are only going to get worse for her but it doesn’t have anything to do with us."

Malia nodded, "Yeah, let’s eat. We’ve been talking about things that are spoiling our mood."

"Weren’t you the one who brought them up?" Orla stared at her sister and shook her head.

After lunch, they returned their trays to the cafeteria bin and headed to class. But less than ten minutes later, a student entered, announcing that the Principal wanted to see them.

Malia gaped. "Why would the principal call us? It can’t be about what happened in the cafeteria, right?"

"Let’s go find out," Orla replied, leading the way as they all made their way to the Principal’s office.

The Principal, a tall, lean man with streaks of white in his black hair and sharp eyes, sat behind a large desk, his fingers meticulously shuffling through some papers.

Malia knocked on the open door, making him look up.

"Come in," he said, though they hesitated. Cyran spoke up.

"All of us, sir?"

"Cyran?" The principal raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I—uh, I was there during the fight, sir."

The Principal sighed, waving them inside. "All of you except that boy," he said, pointing toward the doorway where Lance lingered.

They filed in, standing in a line before him. He leaned forward, studying each of them intently before focusing on Cyran.

"Explain what happened."

"Yes, sir. It was those guys who started it," Cyran began, recounting the incident in detail.

When he finished, the Principal sighed again, turning his gaze to the two sisters. "Since none of you instigated the fight, I’ll let it go. But remember, your mother is keeping an eye on you both. Even if I don’t inform her, she’ll find out—just as you two always seem to know what’s happening in everyone’s lives here at school." His gaze narrowed slightly. "You take after her in that way. But bringing him—" he nodded toward Lance—"that was a mistake. Your mother will be furious when she hears. Now leave."

"Yes, sir," they murmured in unison.

"Ephyra, stay," he added as they turned to leave. They exchanged glances, then filed out, closing the door behind them.

"Miss Allen," he began, folding his hands on the desk, "do you understand why I asked you to stay?"

"No, sir," she replied, her eyes flicking from the nameplate on his desk to his face.

"Your father called, informing me that Myra won’t be attending school for the next month. He also mentioned why. And I’m aware of what happened in the locker room on Monday." He sighed, a slight smile softening his expression when she met his gaze. "I didn’t realize Myra’s attitude had become so hostile. I apologize for not stepping in sooner. You’re bright but timid, which makes you a target. I hope you can rise above this, strengthen yourself, and learn to overcome challenges like this. People’s actions won’t affect you if you’re grounded in your own worth. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Good. You’re dismissed."

Eira stepped out of the office, seeing her friends waiting for her.

Malia hurried over, nodding toward the door. "What did the old man want?"

"Nothing much. He just told me my father called about Myra’s absence and apologized on behalf of the teachers for what happened on Monday," Eira replied as they walked back to class.

Malia rolled her eyes. "He knows everything but never does anything. Typical."

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, most students sprang up, grabbing their things and hurrying out. Malia, Orla, Eira, and Cyran took their time, savoring the small victory of another day closer to graduation.

"Great lord! Another day down until we’re free from this hellhole!" Malia stretched in relief, her sister helping her pack up while Cyran waited beside Eira.

Orla nudged Malia with her bag. "If you’re done being dramatic, let’s go."

"Thank you, sis!" Malia kissed Orla’s cheek, grabbed her bag, and moved to Eira’s side. "Let’s walk to the gate together."

Eira picked up her phone and smiled. "Sure, let’s go."

They walked toward the front doors, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the grounds. Cyran was quiet, lost in thought, while Eira looked around, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nostalgia. In a few months, she’d be graduating high school—her first graduation in both her life as Eira and Ephyra.

Sensing her mood, Malia squeezed her arm. "Hey, don’t look so gloomy. Once we’re out of here, we’re free. No more Myra, no more Principal Snoop. Just us, college, and a world of possibilities."

Eira grinned. "Principal Snoop?"

Malia winked. "I have a talent for nicknames."

Orla groaned. "More like terrible names."

As they stepped through the school gate, they spotted lines of cars, students pairing up and climbing in. Malia pointed. "That’s our car! Where’s yours?"

Eira scanned the lot, relieved not to see the car from that morning. It seemed like Eliot had gotten her message.

Just then, two men in suits approached. "Miss Ephyra," one said, bowing slightly. "Miss Jania asked us to escort you to the estate."

Eira turned to her friends. "Alright, see you guys tomorrow."

Malia eyed the men, nodding slowly. "S-sure. Tomorrow, then. I’ll give you a call."

"Bye, Ephyra," Cyran waved, and Orla nodded in farewell.

"Let’s go meet your crazy boss," Eira muttered, walking toward the sleek black Bentley, steeling herself for whatever awaited her at the estate.