Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

It was getting chaotic again.

”Nat, put him down,” April ordered.

”But...”

”No buts,” April’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade, cool and utterly unyielding. ”Put him down. Now.”

Nat gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw bulging as he held Oliver suspended for one long, murderous second. With an irritated growl, he shoved the doctor backward, releasing his collar with enough force to send Oliver stumbling against the table.

Oliver hastily adjusted his white coat, smoothing down his lapels with hands that were still betraying a slight tremor. He cleared his throat, his eyes darting briefly toward April before snapping back to his glasses, adjusting them once more to anchor his shattered composure.

”You’re lucky she’s here, Doc,” Nat spat, wiping his knuckles as if he’d already drawn blood, his fiery hair practically radiating heat. ”Try a stunt like that again, and I’ll make sure your hands never hold a scalpel again.”

”Wow, a quality control test,” Alexander echoed, stepping forward with a cold, mocking sneer, his blue eyes sharp as ice. ”I didn’t realize the medical board issued licenses for foot fetishism, Dr. Baxter. Your scientific rhetoric is getting progressively more pathetic.”

Xavier stood towering right beside them, his broad frame rigid, his golden-tinged eyes narrowed into lethal slits. ”You crossed a line, Oliver. Explicit permission to fit a shoe is not an invitation to act like that.”

Behind April’s chair, Samuel remained motionless, but his dark gaze was fixed on Oliver with a chilling, predatory focus that suggested he was already calculating three distinct ways to remove the surgeon from the room permanently. He thought he only had to deal with three men hovering around April, but Dr. Oliver seemed to be joining the equation.

She was impressive, yes, but it was not so men like them could just claim her for themselves.

Oliver, despite the overwhelming aura of violence directed at him, slowly drew himself up to his full height. The flush on his neck hadn’t faded, but he tilted his chin up, forcing his clinical mask back over his reddened face.

”My methodology may have lacked... conventional restraint,” Oliver drawled, his raspy voice regaining a fraction of its former arrogance, ”but the empirical result remains undeniable. The support structure is optimal.”

”Shut up, Oliver,” April cut in smoothly, though a subtle, dangerous spark of entertainment danced in her eyes.

She stood up from her chair, stepping into the second acrylic heel. The clear straps vanished against her skin, making her long, bare legs look endlessly sleek, arching her posture with effortless grace. She took two light, deliberate steps across the room, the sound of her heels echoing crisply against the floor.

She turned back, glancing down at the shoes before raising her eyes to Oliver.

”I love them,” she said, smiling. She wasn’t a fan of heels; that’s why she rarely wore stilettos and opted for block heels when she needed to wear them. But this pair... It was as if they were just an extension of her legs. Mild discomfort with the elevated height, but not something she couldn’t dismiss. She could practically walk in these for hours.

She stepped closer to Oliver, her height almost up to his with the added height, and then she whispered, ”Thank you, Oliver.”

Her words and her smile seemed to spark something in Oliver, and his face dusted with a flush of pink.

”Ahem,” he cleared his throat, ”I am glad you like them.”

Then, a blue System panel flickered softly in her.

[Target: Oliver Baxter]

Trust Level: 81% (Threshold Reached)

Status: Almost Eligible To Become A Named Piece/Added to Client Tab

April’s lips curved into a subtle, victorious smirk. The doctor’s absurd, desperate attempt to rationalize his own desires had finally pushed his defenses past the breaking point.

”Emily, come take a look,” she called, only to lift her head and realize Emily wasn’t in the suite. Her smile dropped. ”Where did Emily go?”

”Miss Emily exited the suite during the commotion,” Samuel explained, stepping up with his usual disciplined composure. ”I assume she went to find the chef Philippe before he left.”

”Did she take anyone with her?” April asked, a little worried. She hated the thought of knowing Emily was going around unprotected.

”She is accompanied by two guards prepared by me,” Samuel assured her, his voice low and grounding as he stepped slightly closer. ”They were instructed to stay three paces behind her at all times, and be in the shadows if it displeases her and hinders her activities.”

April let out a quiet breath, her tense shoulders dropping just a fraction. Even with guards, Emily’s quiet, soft-spoken nature always made her feel like a target waiting to happen—especially in a building packed with hyper-competitive chefs, wealthy patrons, and high-strung security details.

”Good,” April murmured, though her eyes remained fixed on the double doors leading out of the suite. ”Because if anything happens to her, I’m holding every single person in this room accountable.”

Nat snorted, though his gaze softened slightly as he crossed his massive arms over his chest. ”Relax, sweetheart. If anyone so much as looks at your sister sideways, my boys outside will break their legs before they can blink.”

”That doesn’t mean she should be wandering around private corridors unattended,” Xavier interjected, his dark brow furrowed with genuine concern as he looked at April. ”The venue is large, and tensions are running high after today’s scoring. I can send my personal security to reinforce them.”

”No need,” Alexander cut in seamlessly, his tone cool, aristocratic, and completely dismissive of Xavier’s offer. ”My men are already monitoring the lower service level. She is completely safe.”

April ignored their immediate, knee-jerk competition to play protector, her mind already calculating the layout of the building’s lower floors. Philippe’s prep kitchen was tucked away near the rear exit—a quiet, shadowy corridor that got surprisingly desolate once the main dinner service concluded.

She turned on her heel, the new acrylic heels making a sharp, authoritative click against the polished floor as she moved toward the entrance of the suite.

”I’m going down,” April declared cleanly.

Oliver immediately took a step forward, his clinical mask slipping just enough for his dark eyes to track her movement with an eager, hyper-attentive focus. ”I will accompany you. The elevated incline of those heels requires observational monitoring on staircase declines.”

”You stay right where you are, Doc,” Nat growled, stepping directly into Oliver’s path with a dangerous, looming grin. ”You’ve done enough ’monitoring’ for one night.”

April didn’t bother waiting for them to settle their score. She pushed open the heavy double doors, her yellow dress swaying gently with her stride, while Samuel fell into lockstep right behind her like a silent, lethal shadow.