Rebirth Of The Forgotten Heiress - Chapter 29: Chapter 29

Ten minutes later, Quinlyn straddled a chair, arms folded across its back, as she took in Yasin's sorry state with a mix of disbelief and amusement.
Now he was properly soaked—not like the dampness from the rain earlier, but drenched to the bone, skin blanched from hours in the water. He might as well have been dragged straight up from the seabed.
A slick trail of footprints and dripping clothes led from the doorway to the stairs, the wooden floors glistening in his wake.
In each hand, he swung a mesh bag—one alive with scuttling crabs, the other bursting with silver-flanked fish still thrashing against the netting. The salt-and-sea scent of their fresh catch hung thick in the air.
"Quinlyn, what's going on here?" she asked.
Yasin responded calmly, either oblivious to her tone or simply brushing it off, "I'm getting the main ingredient for the seafood stew."
Quinlyn rolled her eyes. "I know that. I mean, what were you thinking? With that crazy storm outside—rain pouring down, darkness so thick you couldn't see a thing—you still went to the shore?"
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Yasin's lips, his mood lifted just a bit by the catch in his hands. He ignored her frustration and stepped closer, handing her the bags. "Yep."
Quinlyn was taken aback by his nonchalance and arrogance. She reluctantly took the bags, feeling a lecture bubbling up inside her.
Yasin was just a minor character in this story, after all. No special protection in the grand scheme of things. If he got himself killed in a storm, there were plenty of others to replace him.
But as she looked at him more closely, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the way he was already yawning.
"I'm beat," he said, his voice heavy with fatigue. "Just keep the seafood alive. If you don't know how to cook it, leave it be. I'll take care of it when I wake up." With that, he shuffled off toward his room.
Quinlyn thought he was just making an excuse, but as she watched Yasin, a strange thought crossed her mind. Just as he reached for the doorknob, she blurted out, "Actually, the seafood isn't really that important, is it?"
It suddenly occurred to her that maybe he was trying to prove a point—that he'd do whatever he wanted, no matter the weather. A little rain wasn't going to stop him. But as this idea formed, she wondered again, 'Is he really that oblivious of anything?'
He paused, then let out a short laugh. "Didn't someone here say I need to be cool and tough? And if I can't even offer her anything to eat, that's not cool or tough at all."
With that, he stepped inside and shut the door, leaving Quinlyn standing there, confused.
She looked at the crabs blowing bubbles and the fish that would soon die if they weren't dealt with now. She sighed, took the seafood, and headed to the kitchen, ready to get it over with.
Her footsteps, initially dragging with frustration, gradually lightened until a faint smile touched her lips. She didn't know Yasin's motives, but she had this fleeting sense of breaking free from fate's constraints.
'Let it rain for days,' she mused. 'Let the heavens conspire to trap our precious leads together in some contrived romantic scenario. How charming will their courtship be when they're starving?' The thought almost made her laugh. Their schemes meant nothing to her now.
With renewed vigor, she set about preparing the seafood stew. Best to consume it quickly—before their eight unwelcome companions arrived and turned this simple meal into another ordeal.
Just as Quinlyn finished cooking, the inevitable happened. A commotion erupted outside the gate. With the kitchen window open, she could clearly hear excited shouts.
"Aha! I knew we wouldn't be stuck in that cave forever."
"That smell! Someone's cooked a proper meal. I'm done with those godawful ration biscuits."
"Quick. Let's eat, then shower and sleep. Mr. Fletcher really put us through hell this time."
And then with a bang, the door flew open.
A bedraggled group tumbled in, looking like they'd been dragged through a swamp—clothes caked in mud, faces streaked with dirt. They froze when they saw Quinlyn standing calmly in the center of the room.
The contrast couldn't have been starker. While they looked like they'd just survived a natural disaster, Quinlyn appeared freshly showered—her long hair perfectly tousled, complexion flawless, as if completely untouched by any ordeal.
"Quinlyn? What are you doing here?" Yalena's voice cut through the awkward silence.
The group stared in disbelief. They'd spent the last two days trekking through mud, rationing supplies, and sleeping in cramped conditions. But Quinlyn looked like she'd just stepped out of a spa day, not a trace of hardship on her.
Zachary's jaw tightened. 'I knew it. Grandpa helps her. What's the point of this survival exercise if some participant gets special treatment? And why is she the chosen one?'
Yalena reached the same conclusion. A bitter taste rose in her throat, though Zachary's visible irritation provided some consolation.
Quinlyn shrugged. "Got here yesterday. Found this place by luck," she said, gesturing around. "Most rooms are empty—just avoid the first one upstairs and this one. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll grab some rest."
As she turned to leave, someone blurted, "Wait. We smelled food. You got food, right?"
Quinlyn paused. "There is food. My food. I don't feel like sharing."
Her words sounded harsh. The collective disappointment was palpable.
Yalena stepped forward with feigned concern. "Quinlyn, we're stuck here together. On an island this small, shouldn't we at least try to help each other?"
The sugar-coated manipulation was almost impressive. She had a way of twisting things—making Quinlyn's reluctance seem like some unforgivable crime. And worse, the others were buying it.
Yarden, meanwhile, had never been one for subtlety—especially not around someone he considered worthless. He shoved past the group, zeroing in on the kitchen where steam curled from a bubbling pot.
The rich, salty scent hit him like a punch, and he just ripped the lid off, revealing a lone crab and a fish simmering in broth.
Quinlyn sighed, "Look, I was trying to avoid fights here, but you guys left me no choice. One crab, one fish for eight people? How are you supposed to split that? One crab leg each? That's not gonna work."