Rebirth Of The Forgotten Heiress - Chapter 75: Chapter 75

It was as if his body was warning Yasin not to be a bad boy—time to turn over a new leaf. He scoffed inwardly. 'Yeah, right. Call what I did to Yarden bad? That's called serving justice.'
Quinlyn quickly noticed something was off with him. Just this afternoon, he'd been chattering nonstop, but ever since he asked for a hug, he'd fallen completely silent, his head hanging low as if shrouded in darkness.
Quinlyn thought, 'Is he sulking just because I didn't respond? That doesn't fit his shameless persona at all.'
She tentatively poked his arm with her fingertip. His arm was so stiff, not springy at all. It's more like pressing on a stale loaf of bread.
Yasin slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers, his eyes dark and unreadable, resembling twin whirlpools, threatening to pull her in and swallow her whole.
His face remained expressionless, yet the turbulent emotions beneath were palpable. Yasin said in a low, tense voice, "Don't move, I..."
Quinlyn thought, 'Seriously? Why does it suddenly look like I'm the one taking advantage of him?'
He pressed his tongue against his teeth and muttered, "I don't want to be that kind of animal."
Quinlyn stopped moving and sat up straight, sensing he was dead serious. He'd been so shameless for so long that Quinlyn almost forgot that he was not a pushover.
Quinlyn settled back into her seat. The car remained silent the whole way, with only occasional honks from passing vehicles breaking the stillness. The car finally stopped where she studied piano, and only then did Quinlyn and Yasin stir slightly.
The taciturn driver was a consummate professional—upon arrival, he didn't say a word, didn't even look back, and showed zero concern as to whether his two passengers in the back had jumped out of the car halfway.
"Go on, I'll pick you up in two hours. Since this is an additional class, it might be a bit more demanding," Yasin slipped back into his father mode, his brows drooping wearily.
But if you looked closer, you'd notice that despite his lazy expression, his whole body was taut, the veins on his hands bulging conspicuously.
Quinlyn's hand was already on the door handle. Yasin finally let out a quiet breath as he watched Quinlyn leave. 'Damn it, I can't turn into some horny beast,' Yasin swore to himself.
Maybe playing dad had gotten to his head, all he could think was, 'Quinlyn, just focus on your studies—nothing else matters. She is still a kid.'
But the next moment, Quinlyn, who had turned away, suddenly spun around and threw herself into his arms. Before Quinlyn even reached him, a delicate fragrance wafted over.
In the next instant, her soft body pressed against Yasin as she threw her arms around him with all her might, though her embrace still couldn't quite encircle his broad frame.
Yasin froze for a second. The searing pain in his hand ebbed away like the tide, slowly receding. He thought to himself, 'Well, that's the most absurd pain relief method.'
Before Yasin could say anything, Quinlyn cut in, "Come here. My poor Pawn is feeling down, right? There, there, will a hug make you feel better?"
Yasin thought, 'Seriously? Does she think I'm a three-year-old baby?'
As if to confirm his suspicion, Quinlyn reached out and gave his back a reassuring pat—her intention to comfort him couldn't have been clearer.
Yasin suddenly felt a wave of self-pity wash over him. 'Maybe acting like a three-year-old baby isn't so bad,' he thought, nestling his head into Quinlyn's shoulder.
He might look big, but inside him just a delicate flower. He was just one step away from whining, "Poor, poor me," like a spoiled kid.
The parking lot was silent, so the driver up front couldn't help but catch snippets of the conversation in the backseat, but he remained silent. As a consummate professional driver, his ears only worked when the horn sounded—any other time, he'd rather go deaf.
After comforting him for a few minutes, Quinlyn finally sat up straight. To her surprise, Yasin's furrowed brows were genuinely relaxed. 'So, he really was upset about something,' she thought in amazement. 'And a cuddle really comforts him that easily.'
With his spirits somewhat restored, Yasin waved her off with a smirk. "Go on now. I'll send you the bill for the piano lessons—and for the hug too."
Quinlyn looked utterly bewildered. "Wait, I get the piano lesson bill, but what the hell is this hug bill? Whose hug are we talking about?"
Yasin pointed at himself shamelessly. "Me, obviously."
Quinlyn grumbled inwardly, 'Oh, screw you! You just perked up and you're already acting like an ass. You might as well have stayed half-dead.'
Yasin relaxed his brows and said calmly, "Don't worry, I will still give you a good discount—you're getting a bargain."
"Fine!" Quinlyn snapped through gritted teeth. "Given your unconventional pricing model, I suggest you provide a full itemized list of all chargeable services. That way, I can assess my actual needs before deciding what to purchase. Does that work for you?"
Yasin frowned, as if trying to process what she'd just said. A few seconds later, he gave her an exaggerated look of shock, which showed he couldn't believe her cruelty, while dramatically wrapping his arms around himself in mock defense.
Quinlyn thought to herself, 'There's just no way to keep this conversation going. Not only is this man shameless, but he'd probably auction off his soul if he could.'
She had no idea that every single member of the Guzman family saw her in the same way.
With all her pent-up anger, Quinlyn played a gentle piece with such militant force. It sounded more like a battle song—playing with the confidence of being possessed by Beethoven. But in the very next moment, the teacher's soft ruler came down on her hand.
"Focus on your sheet music. No funny business!" The piano teacher looked to be in her early thirties—refined, elegant, with curves in all the right places and a warm, graceful face. When Quinlyn first saw her, she thought she'd met an angel.
Reality swiftly bitch-slapped her, reminding her that you really can't judge a book by its cover. The piano teacher had a hot temper—she even kept a soft ruler specifically for discipline. By evening's end, Quinlyn's hands were red from all the smacks.
The piano teacher, as if cut from the same cloth as Leonard, said sternly, "Piano demands hard work and discipline. I won't tolerate this last-minute cramming.
"If you're going to learn, learn to be the best. On stage, you should be the brightest star—do you have the confidence?"
Quinlyn hesitated, which earned her a sharp smack from the teacher's ruler.
"Well, do you?"
"Yes!" Quinlyn shouted, and then thought to herself, 'God, are all these teachers from some military training camp or something?'
"Excellent! Keep that fighting spirit—play with passion and motivate yourself as you go."
By the end of the piano lesson, Quinlyn's hands were almost swollen, though she could still hold up okay, but her voice was completely shot. Quinlyn thought, 'I came for piano lessons and somehow got a crash course in soprano singing too. What a bargain.'
The car was still there when she finished. To her surprise, Yasin was engrossed in his laptop for once. She asked casually, "Swamped with work?"
"Yeah, I've got a backlog from the past few days. Without me, these guys can't seem to get anything done," he joked. As he lifted his head, he caught sight of her reddened hands, and his fingers froze mid-keystroke. "What happened this time?" he asked.
Quinlyn looked at her hands and quipped, "These are my medals of honor."
Yasin scoffed lightly. "With all those medals, do you even have enough space left to wear them all?"
Quinlyn scratched her head with a wry chuckle. She was not going to tell him that there was a huge bruise on her waist—courtesy of that bastard Chancey's kick.