Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 89: Dysfunctional

Eira blinked, staring blankly at him as he stared at her, awaiting her panicky reaction—which never came.

The fuck? Eira thought, her gaze moving over his body.

The man had an angular face with piercing gray eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. His dark hair was slicked back, and the faint scent of expensive cologne wafted toward her.

Eira tilted her head, her lips curling into a mocking smirk despite the pounding in her head. "You know, I’m sure there’s a dress code for situations like these, but I’m pretty sure overdressed mobsters weren’t on the list," she quipped, her voice hoarse but steady.

The man’s expression didn’t waver, though a flicker of amusement danced in his gray eyes. He took a step closer, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete floor. "Ah, humor. A defense mechanism of the defiant." He paused, crossing his arms as he loomed over her. "I expected fear, maybe some begging. But instead, you crack jokes? Intriguing."

Eira leaned back in the chair as much as her restraints allowed, her smirk widening. "Oh, trust me, I’m terrified. I just hide it well. Now, if we’re done with the villain monologue, maybe you can tell me what the hell you want and where the fuck my driver is."

The man chuckled softly, his tone smooth and almost patronizing. "Straight to the point. I like that. Very well." He moved to a table in the corner, picking up a file and flipping it open. "Ephyra Allen... I need you to cooperate with me and answer a couple of questions. Then there will be no trouble—for you or your driver."

Eira’s gaze hardened as she kept her expression neutral. "Sure. What the fuck do you want to know?"

The man held up a hand. "Not here. I’m not the only one who wants to know." He smiled as he turned and gestured toward the entrance for whoever was there to come in.

In a few seconds, Eira frowned as the leather straps were loosened by two figures. She was then pulled up by the arm and led out.

"Are you going to tell me where the hell you’re taking me?" she asked, her tone sharp.

The man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked ahead, his polished shoes echoing against the concrete floor. Eira gritted her teeth, her muscles tense as the two figures on either side of her tightened their grip on her arms.

They led her down a long corridor illuminated by cold, sterile lights. The walls were bare, save for the occasional metal door with no visible handles. Eira’s sharp eyes darted around, cataloging every detail.

Finally, they stopped in front of a large steel door. One of the guards pressed a code into a keypad, and with a soft beep, the door slid open. The room beyond was expansive, its dim lighting casting ominous shadows along the concrete walls. Inside, a handful of men clustered in small groups, their low murmurs halting as Eira was escorted in. In the center of the room stood a lone chair bolted to the floor.

Eira was forced into the chair, her arms restrained once again as the guards tightened the straps. Her eyes scanned the room, her smirk gone.

"Is she the one?" a tall man with neatly combed brown hair asked. His light gray shirt and matching tailored pants were a sharp contrast to the dingy surroundings. His raised eyebrows betrayed a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

"Yes, Samuel. She’s the one," Matteo replied dismissively, walking toward a group of tattooed men standing directly across from Eira. His suit, still impeccable, showed he was unfazed by the tension in the room.

Samuel chuckled, shaking his head. "You can keep dismissing me, Matteo, but I’ll say it anyway—this is a spectacularly bad idea. A very horrible idea. One you’re bound to regret."

"If you’re so sure, why are you here?" Matteo shot back without looking at him.

Samuel smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "You invited us, didn’t you? Besides, we had no idea what kind of mess you were brewing. Now that we’re here, though, I’m happy to sit back and watch you dig your own grave."

Matteo turned, his gray eyes flashing with irritation. "Fuck you, Samuel. And shut the hell up."

Before Samuel could respond, Matteo pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with deliberate calm. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing as he gestured to one of the tattooed men. "Bring the syringe."

Eira watched as a burly man approached her, a syringe filled with a clear liquid in his hand. Her jaw tightened, her sharp gaze shifting back to Matteo. "The ones you shot me with weren’t enough?" she asked dryly, her voice laced with venom.

"Oh, they were. Trust me, they did the job," Matteo said with a faint smirk, taking another drag from his cigarette. "It’s not every day we have to use three darts to bring someone down. Impressive, really. But this—" he gestured toward the syringe, "—this is different. It’ll counteract the sedative. I want you to be clear-headed for our little chat."

Eira scoffed, rolling her eyes as the man reached her. Without hesitation, she snatched the syringe from his hand. "You’d better fucking hope this is what you say it is," she snarled, yanking up her sleeve. She jabbed the needle into her arm, injecting the liquid in one smooth motion before tossing the syringe to the floor with a loud clatter.

Matteo raised an eyebrow, amusement tugging at his lips. "Is it working?"

Eira glared at him, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "What, you expected miracles in two fucking seconds?"

Matteo chuckled, blowing out another puff of smoke. "Alright, we’ll wait. Take your time."

Eira leaned back in the chair, her body tense and her mind racing as she watched Matteo through narrowed eyes. The room was uncomfortably silent except for the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Feeling anything yet?" Matteo asked, blowing a lazy stream of smoke into the air as he leaned against the wall, his demeanor maddeningly calm.

Eira tilted her head, pretending to consider the question. "Yeah," she said dryly. "I feel like punching you in the face. That normal?"

Samuel, who had been quietly observing from the side, let out a bark of laughter. "I like her," he said, pointing a finger at Matteo. "You sure you can handle her?"

Matteo’s gaze flicked to Samuel with thinly veiled irritation before returning to Eira. "Don’t worry about me. Let’s focus on her. She’s the one with the answers we want."

Eira straightened in her seat, her gaze brightening and the haze clouding her mind clearing. "I don’t know what the hell you want to know, or if I even have the answers to your questions—"

"You will," Matteo interjected smoothly, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Because the questions are all about you."

Eira’s lips twitched into a tight, mocking smile. "Do not fucking cut me off again," she warned, leaning back as far as her restraints allowed. "About me? Really? You went through all this trouble—kidnapping, drugs, ominous interrogation vibes—just to ask me about myself? That’s not just dumb; it’s peak dumb."

Samuel snickered from his corner, chiming in with his usual nonchalance. "Because sometimes, the truth is best heard straight from the source."

Eira’s eyes snapped to him. "The fuck are you even talking about?"

"Samuel, shut the hell up," Matteo snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning back to Eira with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "This isn’t just about you—it’s about Master Lyle. And this is the quickest way to get the answers we need."

Eira’s brows furrowed at the name, her expression shifting into one of disbelief. "Wait—did you just say Master Lyle? Oh, don’t tell me..." She scoffed, shaking her head. "You’re his people, aren’t you?"

Matteo’s smirk deepened. "If by ’his people,’ you mean his trusted associates, then yes."

Eira let out a sharp laugh, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Associates? Really? I was going to say ’minions.’"

Samuel clapped his hands once, thoroughly entertained. "Minions, associates—tomato, to-mah-to. Either way, we’re here, and you’ve got our full attention."

Matteo shot Samuel a glare before returning his focus to Eira. "We didn’t just bring you here out of curiosity. I noticed you when you started going to and coming from the mansion the rest of us aren’t allowed to enter except on official business. Then Juliana asked me to dig into some... information regarding your stepmother. And while helping her, I got more curious. After that, well, let’s just say I couldn’t resist finding out more."

Eira rolled her eyes before bursting into laughter. "So let me get this straight: you were curious, felt nosy for your boss, and that somehow justified kidnapping me? This is like a twisted version of a mother trying to scare off her son’s girlfriend—y’know, to see if she’s good enough for her precious baby boy."

Eira leaned back in her chair, her laughter fading into a smirk as she locked eyes with Matteo. "So, tell me, Matteo, am I good enough for your ’precious son’? Or do I need to pass some kind of twisted loyalty test?"

Matteo’s jaw tightened, but before he could retort, Samuel snorted, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "She’s got a point, Matteo. It does sound a bit... overprotective."

"Samuel," Matteo snapped, his voice edged with annoyance. "One more word out of you, and I’ll have you escorted out."

"Relax," Samuel said with a lazy grin. "I’m just here for the show."

Eira glanced between the two men, smiling. "You people really need to work on your team dynamics. It’s giving dysfunctional family vibes."

Matteo ignored her jab, stepping closer and crouching down to meet her gaze. His gray eyes were piercing, his tone dropping into something almost dangerously soft. "This isn’t about overprotection. It’s about knowing the people around the boss, especially since you’re the only one who is closest to him."

Eira arched an eyebrow, her amusement barely masking the simmering frustration beneath. "Closest to him? I’ve known the guy for what, a few weeks? And believe me, it wasn’t by choice. If anything, he’s the one clinging to me. So maybe you should have this little inquisition with him instead of dragging me into your soap opera."

Matteo’s smirk faded, replaced by a cold expression. "Oh, we’ve tried," he said smoothly, his voice dropping a degree colder. "But you see, Master Lyle doesn’t exactly open up to us the way he... responds to you, from what I’ve heard. That’s why you’re here. He trusts you, and that makes you significant—whether you like it or not."

Eira’s jaw tightened, the weight of Matteo’s words sinking in. She glanced around the room again, her eyes catching every twitch of movement. "Significant, huh?" she murmured, her tone edged with derision. "Then let me make something clear: if Lyle trusts me, that means he’s my problem, not yours. So maybe you should rethink whatever twisted scheme you’ve cooked up because it’s going to backfire spectacularly."