Rebirth Of The Forgotten Heiress - Chapter 27: Chapter 27

Zachary was clearly ticked. The memory of getting roasted over the phone was fading, but phone jabs didn't hold a candle to this—being stared down at, face-to-face.
Quinlyn looked bright and energetic, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She was holding a soda—something she'd smuggled in—and was looking down at him with a playful, crinkly-eyed smile.
Watching Zachary's expression shift from stunned to shocked to ticked off made her feel good—good enough to ease the ache in her backside.
Silence stretched on. Quinlyn had chugged the whole soda, and there was still no response. The rain came down harder. She pulled her raincoat hood up and said, "Guess I'm outta here."
Zachary's fists squeezed tight, knuckles whitening. At twenty, he'd barely known hardship. These past few days had dumped more mess on him than his whole life combined. Rage simmered, almost boiling over.
"Do. You. Have. To. Do. This?" he growled, each word forced through gritted teeth. His eyes were burning with pure rage.
Quinlyn hummed. Her playful smile dropped, replaced by something cool. "What did I do?" she shot back. "I didn't hit you or insult you. You want to be saved, and I asked for something in return. What's the problem?"
Her gaze drifted through the rain, landing on the mad face of his—it matched the one in her memory.
She sneered, "Or did you think I should've fallen for you right away? Let you trash-talk me at the ceremony, then keep chasing you even when you shot me down?"
"This is payback!" Zachary snapped, his voice dripping with anger.
Quinlyn let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You got it all wrong, buddy. At worst, I saw you in trouble and didn't jump to help."
She paused, adding, "But I didn't make it worse. You should be thanking me."
Zachary was counting on her to fire back. That was part of his plan—he'd provoke her and then take control. Girls like her were always easy to manipulate.
But she didn't get mad. She even owned up to it. "I don't go around hurting people. Later," Quinlyn said and strolled off like it was nothing.
"Quinlyn Guzman!" Zachary yelled, voice raw. "You can't leave, not in this downpour. If something happens to me, the Guzmans will answer for it." But the rain crashed through the trees, swallowing his shouts, making them sound small and useless.
Suddenly, he heard a noise, and then a sharp pain exploded in his head. The next second, an empty soda bottle clattered to the ground beside him.
Zachary fell silent.
He'd thought "say uncle" wasn't so bad—no one else was around, right? But if he didn't get out soon, all seven of the others would find him like this.
And the rain kept coming, harder. The mud in the pit soaked through his clothes, his foot stuck deep in the muck. His inner need to stay clean screamed—this was torture.
But right now, he couldn't regret his stupid idea more. "Quinlyn, go to hell!" he bellowed.
Quinlyn hadn't gone far. She heard every angry word he said. Then she stretched, talking to the Narrator in her head. 'Are you gonna skimp out on me now? You're supposed to narrate this scene so I can fix it.'
The Narrator was dead silent.
Quinlyn scoffed and sauntered back into the cave.
When she got there, Yasin had everything packed. Seeing her soaked raincoat, he frowned, his face tight, like he was about to scold her.
The second Quinlyn saw him, last night rushed back—the warmth of his embrace, the just-him scent, and her damn burned butt.
"Constipated?" Yasin asked.
Quinlyn was speechless. 'Why did he have to open his mouth?'
"Otherwise, what took so long? And you still look like you didn't get anything done." Yasin pulled a banana out of the packed bag and held it out. "Eat this."
Quinlyn clamped her mouth shut, snatching the banana. Her mind was blank except for one thought: maybe she could save the peel and then throw it at Zachary stuck in that pit.
Yasin was all about moving. Once packed, he headed into the rain, calling back to Quinlyn.
Quinlyn finally noticed what she'd been missing. "Where are you going?" she asked.
"Find a bigger spot," Yasin replied, glancing around. "The Fletchers won't let Zachary suffer, which means they won't keep us trapped in this cave forever. Let's find somewhere better."
Quinlyn nodded—there really was a nice house on the island. But she'd never planned to join the group. She'd just wanted to hole up alone in this cave.
Still, she followed Yasin, stepping over the dead leaves and mud. Her gaze stuck to his broad shoulders, and she thought of the tiny cave where he couldn't even stretch his legs when he slept.
She suddenly said, "This cave's way too small for you. We need more space."
Yasin stopped. Rain soaked his brown hair, droplets clinging to his lashes. The misty rain softened his sharp edges, making him look almost gentle.
Water slid down his jaw, plopping onto the dead leaves below. It felt like a scene straight out of a romance comic.
Then he spoke, shattering the moment, "Yeah, at least you won't burn your butt."
Quinlyn went quiet, jolting back to reality. The rain was hammering his face like a fire hose, and the mud had turned the leaves into a slimy mess—any hint of romance was gone.
She ground her teeth so hard that she thought her molars might crack. "Are you never gonna let that go?" she snapped.
Yasin noticed her change in mood and shook his head gently. "It's not just that. This cave is too small. Once we light a fire, it turns dry and smoky in no time."
Quinlyn had a bad feeling about where this was going.
Yasin continued, "Dry air makes you more likely to—"
He didn't finish. A hand clamped over his mouth, hard.
"Kitty, still hung up on your big career?" Quinlyn asked. Her eyes shot upward, fixing on the top of his head.
Yasin followed her gaze and then realized she was talking about the words above his head. 'Those words mean a big career?' he wondered, puzzled. But he just nodded, keeping his confusion to himself.
"Then listen—your persona needs to be cool, confident, and sharp. You can throw in a quirk or two, but keep it classy overall," Quinlyn said. After all, no leading guy wastes his time care about constipation or that burning butt thing.