Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

Downstairs in the grand living room, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Nat was pacing like a caged beast, Xavier was silently staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows with a rigid posture, and Alexander sat on the couch with his head resting in his hands. Oliver leaned against the mantelpiece, his medical bag sitting ready on the table.

They had deliberately sent Samuel up alone to gauge her reaction. They knew April would likely wake with a temper once she realized she had been drugged and her schedule disrupted; she would have torn the mansion apart with her words alone.

Samuel was the only one with the precise, soft-spoken diplomacy to ease her out of her defense mode and make her understand, they believed.

Hearing footsteps on the marble stairs, all four men snapped their heads toward the foyer.

Samuel descended the steps with his usual cool, unbothered posture, his hands free at his sides.

”Well?” Xavier demanded, stepping forward immediately. ”Is she furious?”

”Did she demand my head on a platter?” Oliver asked with a faint, amused raise of his eyebrow.

”She was, but is no longer angry,” Samuel announced calmly, stopping at the foot of the stairs. ”She understands that today’s event was postponed for her well-being.”

Nat let out a heavy breath, clicking his tongue as he crossed his massive arms. ”Tch. I bet I could’ve pulled that off if I went up there instead.”

Not in a thousand years, you unrefined brute, Samuel sneered silently in his mind, his polite smile not wavering for a single millisecond.

”However,” Samuel continued, turning his gaze directly to Oliver, ”you need to come upstairs, Dr. Baxter. She has developed a high fever.”

Oliver’s eyebrow twitched at the sudden mention of a fever. He picked up his medical bag from the table without a word, already striding toward the staircase with swift, practiced steps.

”A fever?” Xavier repeated, his face darkening with fresh worry as he and Alexander immediately fell into step behind the doctor. ”Is it an infection? A reaction to the medication?”

”Unlikely,” Oliver replied smoothly as they ascended the stairs, his sharp eyes focused ahead. ”A sudden spike in body temperature following severe physical exhaustion, acute pain, and forced sedation is a common physiological response. Her body is simply crashing after holding that much stress for hours.”

Nat brought up the rear, his massive boots heavy against the marble. ”You better have something in that bag that doesn’t knock her out for another twelve hours, Doc.”

”I treat patients based on medical necessity, Collins, not your personal entertainment schedule,” Oliver retorted coolly, pushing open the bedroom door.

The four men filed into the room, their presence instantly making the spacious bedroom feel small.

April was curled on her side beneath the plush duvet, her cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink. Her hair was slightly messy against the white pillow, and her breathing was shallow, heavy with the weight of the fever.

Hearing the heavy footsteps, her eyelids fluttered open, her glazed, brown eyes slowly tracking the group as they approached the bed.

Oliver knelt beside her, pulling out a forehead thermometer and gently pressing it against her skin. A quiet beep echoed in the silent room.

”38.8 degrees,” Oliver read off the digital display, his brow furrowing slightly. ”Not dangerously high, but enough to make her miserable.”

Xavier stepped closer, resting a cool, tentative hand against her exposed shoulder. ”April? How are you feeling?”

”Like... my brain is floating,” April mumbled raspy, her voice thick with sleep and heat. She tried to sit up, but Alexander gently placed a hand on her arm, coaxing her back down into the pillows.

”Don’t force it,” Alexander said softly, his blue eyes filled with immense warmth and quiet regret. ”Just lie still. We’re right here.”

Nat stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes scanning her pale, flushed face. The sight of her reduced to a delicate, feverish mess left an uncomfortable ache in his chest.

”Hey, sweetheart,” Nat rumbled, his voice dropping into an unusually gentle register. ”You really know how to keep us on our toes, don’t you?”

April looked at the men gathered around her—Oliver carefully preparing an antipyretic patch, Xavier watching her every breath, Alexander holding her hand, Nat looking fiercely protective, and Samuel standing near the door like an ever-watchful shadow—and closed her eyes once again.

”What about food?” Xavier asked softly, his thumb gently smoothing over her shoulder. ”You haven’t eaten a single thing all day, April. Is there anything you think you could stomach?”

April barely shook her head against the white pillow, her eyelashes resting heavily against her cheek.

”Not hungry...” she whispered raspy, her voice muffled in the duvet.

It was almost surreal to see her like this. Their usually sharp, pragmatic strategist—the ultimate foodie who made it clear that she would hate anyone who wasted food or didn’t appreciate it—was refusing food entirely, reduced to a quiet, feverish heap.

”I’ll make congee for you,” Samuel spoke up from near the doorway, his voice calm, even, and entirely devoid of hesitation.

The other men turned their heads, their eyes sharpening on him in surprise. Samuel didn’t give any of them a single glance, his dark, devoted eyes remaining fixed strictly on April.

”Will that do, Miss April?” Samuel asked gently, stepping closer to the bedside. ”Something light, warm, and simple. It will settle your stomach without forcing your digestive system to work too hard.”

April’s glazed eyes slowly opened once more, her gaze finding Samuel’s steady, reassuring face through the warm haze of her fever. A faint, quiet comfort washed over her.

”Thank you, Samuel...” she murmured softly.

He really was so incredibly dependable. No matter how chaotic her mind felt, or how completely her physical body stalled, Samuel was always there, quietly handling every detail with absolute, flawless precision.

A tiny, faint smirk tugged at the very corner of April’s dry lips before disappearing back into the soft linen of her pillow.

She knew she didn’t actually have to lie here suffering like this. With a single thought, she could pull out a vial of revitalization water from her spatial dimension and wipe the fever away in seconds. But Samuel’s quiet words from earlier lingered in her mind—let us take care of you.

So here she was, enduring a dull, exhausting fever. It certainly wasn’t her first time being sick, but her body felt thoroughly drained.

Yet, as she peered out from beneath her heavy eyelids, taking in the chaotic sight of these high-status, powerful men looking so thoroughly lost, helpless, and visibly panicked over her fever, a warm, wicked wave of satisfaction washed over her.

Nat was practically pacing a hole through her carpet, Alexander looked like he was holding her hand as if she were made of delicate glass, Xavier was hyper-fixated on her every breath, Oliver was meticulously adjusting her cooling patch, and Samuel was already organizing a specialized diet for her recovery.

It was almost hilarious to see them this unsettled.

Consider this payback for all the headache and stress you put me through, April thought with a quiet, inner hum, finally letting herself relax completely into the mattress.

Since they wanted so desperately to fuss over her, she was more than happy to lie back, close her eyes, and let them pamper her to their hearts’ content.