Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

April lay flat on her back across the massive bed in her suite, staring up into the darkened ceiling.

​But she wasn’t actually staring at the ceiling. She was staring at a brand-new notification flashing in a deep, vibrant gold.

​It wasn’t the Client Tab—the one that required her to build up eighty percent trust with her clients before they were included. This was a completely separate sub-menu: the Loyalty Tab.

​And right beneath it, a single name was listed.

​[System Notice: Loyalty Tab Unlocked.]

​Target: Samuel Rollins (Chief Attendant)

​Current Loyalty Level: 85%

System Evaluation: The target views the host not merely as an employer, but as an indispensable beacon of raw truth and value. His commitment to your survival is iron-clad.

​April stared at the glowing neon text for a long, quiet beat. Eighty-five percent?

She couldn’t make sense of it.

​A faint, ironic smirk touched her lips. It was a remarkably high number for a man to whom she had just casually confessed to finding his personal tragedy thrilling.

She hadn’t bought his loyalty with gentle words, sweet platitudes, or standard corporate kindness. She had given him a brutal, unvarnished reality check, and in return, he had handed her his absolute devotion.

It was fascinating.

In a world that was rapidly, unknowingly, marching toward absolute ruin, it seemed raw utility and crystalline honesty were worth far more than a nice personality.

​Closing the tab with a lazy wave of her hand, April rolled over onto her side, staring at the dark corner of the room. Today had been an exceptionally long day.

As her eyelids grew heavy, she let out a quiet breath. Hopefully, things continue to go my way. She thought and finally fell asleep.

​The next afternoon, the concept of survival took a completely different, much lazier form.

​April was curled up on the lounge sofa inside her suite, completely submerged in a state of unbothered relaxation.

There were no high-end designer dresses today or even a pair of sneakers. No untouchable, knowing professional persona. She was dressed in an oversized, faded looking graphic t-shirt that hung loosely over a pair of simple cotton shorts.

Her long hair was swept up into a chaotic, messy bun held together by a tight rubber band, and a ridiculously fluffy, oversized pastel skincare headband was stretched across her forehead to keep her bangs out of her face.

​This was her sanctuary. This was her day off and nothing beats a day off than relaxing like the world isn’t ending.

​A ceramic bowl sat in her lap, and her fingers were thoroughly stained with orange grease and powdered seasoning as she crunched on a handful of flavored potato chips.

Her eyes were fixed on the flat-screen TV playing a random television broadcast, while her left hand casually scrolled through a tablet Samuel had prepared for her before he left.

​Every few seconds, she would tap the screen, sending whatever caught her eyes directly into a digital shopping cart. There were wholesale appliances, there were high calorie chocolate bars, and there were appliances, both ones she needed and ones she just wanted to have for fun because, why not? She had the money to spend anyway.

​She cracked open a chilled, carbonated beverage, downing half the can in one long, satisfying gulp before smacking her lips with a content sigh.

​”This,” April muttered to herself, tossing another chip into her mouth, ”is exactly why people pray for a day off when they work themselves to the bone.”

​It was pure bliss. Samuel was already out in the city, using his elite logistics network to discreetly procure the physical resources and furniture they had discussed over the previous evening.

Every single order was being routed directly to Xavier Reed’s transit warehouse on the outskirts of the district, where April planned to go later in the week to absorb everything into her spatial dimension.

The operation was running like a perfectly oiled machine.

It was a pity she couldn’t start searching for her dream safe house, but there were still several days to go so she wasn’t worried.

​It was entirely peaceful.

But as April had learned across two lifetimes, peace in her presence never lasted long.

​Suddenly, her ears twitched. The faint, unmistakable sound of the mansion’s front doors echoing downstairs traveled up the spiral staircase. But it wasn’t just one set of footsteps. Her mind instantly registered three distinct, heavy presences entering the estate.

​April paused, a potato chip hovering halfway to her mouth.

​She knew Xavier had returned from his night-long purge of Harvey’s faction down in the commercial district. She also expected Alexander Greels to be lagging behind him, likely still frantic over the market crash. So she assumed the third would either be a new secretary or assistant of his since she has been hogging Samuel to herself, or it was Robert Greels.

Little did she know that the third presence was radiating an intense, chaotic, and entirely unhinged energy.

How could she? They were all the way down and she was all the way up. But she was indeed curious.

​Yet, before she could even slide off the couch to investigate, the double doors of her suite were casually pushed open without a single knock.

​”Good morning! Your absolute favorite client is here!” a loud, boisterous voice boomed into the room and the air at the back of her neck stood on end.

Xavier sighed. ”You should’ve knocked first.” He muttered but that was little to none of the intruder’s concern.

​Nat Collins stepped over the threshold with a wide, predatory grin stretching across his face. He pulled his dark, thick sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, his chaotic, gleaming eyes instantly locking onto the sofa where April was sitting.

​April froze entirely.

”There you are, sunshine.” He grinned.

​Standing right behind the red-haired mafia king was Xavier Reed, his expression so lethal, cold, and rigid he looked like a statue carved from blocks of ice. Next to him, Alexander Greels looked completely out of his depth, his face pale and his eyes darting between Nat and the room in sheer, helpless but quiet panic.

​Apparently, the Golden Dragon had found it incredibly amusing to use his massive new financial leverage and underground data from the market crash to completely blackmail Xavier into granting him an immediate, uninvited escort straight to the hill mansion.

And so, here they were.

​Nat’s eyes slowly swept over April’s current appearance—the oversized tee, the bare legs, the grease-stained fingers, and the ridiculous fluffy headband framing her face.

​April remained completely motionless on the velvet sofa, the half-eaten chip still stuck between her fingers.

She was entirely out of business mode. Not even Xavier, who shared her living space, had ever seen her looking this casually unkempt. And now, the most dangerous, psychopathic warlord in the underground was standing in her suite, grinning at her like a kid in a candy store.

​You have got to be kidding me, April thought, her jaw tightening as absolute irritation flared behind her eyes. This is just the absolute worst.