Rebirth Of The Forgotten Heiress - Chapter 51: Chapter 51

Quinlyn headed back to her room. Everything was exactly how she'd left it. She gave the room a quick scan before ducking into the bathroom to scrub the sticky lime juice off her skin.
The icy water washed away the sticky residue. After letting the water run for a moment, she twisted the faucet shut and met her own eyes in the mirror.
She stared for a long beat, then reached up and pinched her own cheek hard, as if testing its thickness. A slap would have been more dramatic, but she didn't feel like hurting herself.
She thought, 'Here I am, a woman who's already had a second chance at life. And I still asked a question that dumb. I'm such an idiot.'
Quinlyn closed her eyes and slumped against the cold tiles. A random, sudden thought popped into her head: she should probably buy some chill pills.
She sighed to herself, realizing her mind was still a mess. Then, she mused, "Looks like I really need to sit down and meditate. Maybe that's the only way I'll find some peace."
Without hesitation, Quinlyn pulled out her phone and started searching Amazon for anything that promised to help her chill out. She really needed to work on her composure.
After placing her Amazon order, she grabbed two more things through same-day delivery: two green wigs and a tube of super glue. A small, satisfied smile finally touched her lips.
"It's true what they say," she mused darkly. "The best kind of happiness is the kind you build on someone else's misery."
Once she'd handled all that, Quinlyn scanned her room. Finally, she flipped the lock on her door before flopping onto her bed. This house wasn't safe anymore. She knew that now.
She lay on her bed, scrolling through her contacts until she found Yasin's name. After a brief hesitation, she typed out a message: [You going to the Fletcher residence tonight?]
Yasin fired back instantly: [Yeah. Gonna go mess with that bald dude for you.]
Quinlyn raised an eyebrow. She thought, 'Nice. We're totally on the same page.'
She mulled it over for a second, then tapped into Yasin's contact info and changed his name to "Pawn."
'He can earn a better name later,' she thought, a smirk playing on her lips, 'if he levels up.'
As dusk fell, cars from the Fletcher family arrived. Somehow, they sent two cars—a high-end model and a much cheaper one. The message was loud and clear.
A chauffeur in his middle years stepped out of the nicer car and approached Quinlyn with a slight, respectful bow. "Ms. Guzman," he said smoothly. "If you'll please come with me."
Quinlyn had dressed down for the evening. Her closet was a sad collection of drab, plain clothes, and she knew exactly whose petty little game that was. Someone wanted to make sure she faded into the background.
But tonight, Quinlyn wasn't trying to be the belle of the ball. She had picked a simple, pale-yellow dress and twisted her hair up in a loose knot.
Her makeup was minimal—just enough foundation to even out her skin and a touch of lipstick to look alive.
Meanwhile, Yalena had turned back into a little princess the second she came back to the Guzman family. In just one afternoon, she'd gotten her glow back, looking like some fancy princess with bright, sparkly eyes.
Normally, this would have made Beatrice happy. But the stunt the Fletchers had just pulled soured the mood for all of them.
Quinlyn thought to herself, 'Damn, being a villain is good.'
Just as the chauffeur opened the car door for her, Quinlyn flashed a sweet, polite smile. "That's so kind, but you don't have to. My friend's picking me up." She nodded towards a black SUV parked just down the street.
He followed Quinlyn's gaze. The moment he recognized the emblem on the SUV's grille, his professional politeness never faltered. "Okay, Ms. Guzman. I'll let Mr. Logan Fletcher know." Then he shut the door and took off.
Beatrice, Evelyn, and Yalena stood there, stunned. They couldn't believe the chauffeur would rather leave with an empty car than offer them a ride.
Quinlyn was just as surprised. For a second, she wondered if Logan had been transported, too. There was no other explanation for why he'd target Yalena so openly. He clearly couldn't stand Yalena.
Quinlyn recalled from the original story that Logan was fated to die in the next couple of years.
It was the typical fate for any side character who got in the heroine's way. They either ended up as a stepping stone for her to crush, or their only purpose was to make her look good.
But Quinlyn stayed cool on the outside. She gave the three women a quick tilt of her head and walked toward Yasin's SUV.
Today, Timothy wasn't playing chauffeur. It was just Yasin, sitting in the driver's seat.
Quinlyn thought that, off the island, Yasin finally looked like a human being. He wore a dark, pinstriped button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off powerful, toned forearms.
Right now, he had one hand hanging out the window and one on the steering wheel. He had this chill, lazy thing going on, but there was also this dangerous edge that made you not want to mess with him.
"Hey, what'd you do to them?" Yasin asked as she climbed in. He hadn't seen what went down before he pulled up.
"You ever hear that saying—no expectations, no disappointment?" Quinlyn replied, "Let's just say they were expecting way too much."
Yasin glanced over at those three women standing there and just grunted. Then he cranked the engine, floored it, and aimed straight for them.
In just a few dozen yards, he hit a hundred and blasted out of there. All he left behind was a crazy gust of wind and three women getting their hair whipped around.
Beatrice was the first to recover, chasing after the SUV's taillights and screaming curses, though it was useless.
The other Fletcher chauffeur, however, watched the entire scene unfold, making a mental note of every detail to report back to Logan.
Quinlyn herself was a bit breathless. Once they hit the main road, she finally snapped out of it and quietly gave Yasin a thumbs up.
"You're something else..." she said, then stopped.
Quinlyn thought, 'Now I get it. This is why you're doomed to be a disposable side character. This is why you never get to be the male lead.'
Yasin had his window cracked, messing up his hair. His voice was a low rumble beneath the rush of air. "You happy now?" he asked, all casual.
Before Quinlyn'd gotten in the car, a dark cloud had been hanging over her. She blinked, surprised he'd even noticed.
Maybe it was the roar of the wind, but Quinlyn didn't quite catch his words. She just turned her head, following the sound of his voice.
He drove with a lazy, one-handed confidence, but his gaze was fixed on the road ahead with a sharp focus. Quinlyn felt new and unfamiliar.
In those few minutes, Quinlyn felt for the second time that being a villain was pretty damn good.
She thought, 'It's not just great being a villain myself. Having other villains around is great, too. As long as nobody dies.'
Quinlyn said, "Yeah, I'm so happy now. Just, next time, give me a heads-up so I can come prepared."
He threw her a quick, questioning look. "What?"
Quinlyn smirked, "You know, I can pack supplies—water balloons, flour bombs, the works. A little car-wind is so basic. They probably thought you were just trying to cool them off."
Yasin was silent for a beat, actually considering it. He nodded, completely serious, and flipped on his turn signal. "Good point. Let's go back and do it right."
Quinlyn just stared at him, dumbfounded. She thought, 'Hell no. If you turn back now, your character label will instantly change. And a villain side character is doomed when he messes with the female lead.'
She looked him up and down, then shook her head. "Just drive. Let's just get to the Fletchers."
'Because,' she thought, 'side character and villainous side character are fated to be doomed.'