Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

Alexander’s fingers slid the emerald silk lower, baring her slowly under the warm chandelier light. April’s head rested back against the polished wood, her tipsy mind floating somewhere between the cool surface of the table and the heat of three pairs of hands.

She felt everything through a soft, hazy filter—Nat’s mouth at her throat, Xavier’s lips tracing the inside of her wrist, Alexander settling between her thighs with that quiet, focused intensity.

The first stretch pulled a low, drunken moan from her chest. It wasn’t sharp the way it had been the first nights; her body knew them now, even through the alcohol. She arched, her emerald dress shoved up around her waist, her acrylic heels still on, and let them have her however they wanted.

And they did.

One moment she was on her back, the ring on her finger catching the light every time her hand flexed against Nat’s shoulder. The next she was turned onto her side, Xavier’s chest warm against her back while Alexander took her from the front, slow and deep.

Then Nat hauled her up onto her knees in the center of the long table, one large hand spanning her hip, the other tangled in her hair as he took her from behind while Xavier kissed the broken sounds from her mouth.

Alexander watched for a while, blue eyes dark, before pulling her down into his lap so she straddled him, the table creaking faintly beneath them.

She lost count of how many times they shifted her. The mahogany was cool under her palms, then warm from her skin. Her moans stayed soft and unrestrained—half-laughing, half-pleading, completely unguarded.

Every time one of them pulled out and another took his place, she only hummed in dazed acceptance, fingers curling around them, her nails leaving scratches along their thick skin.

Samuel stood by the sideboard the entire time, notebook open, pen moving in short, precise strokes. His face never changed. Only the white-knuckled grip on the pen betrayed him.

When it finally ended, April was sprawled across the table, her dress ruined, her breathing slow and even, already half-asleep. Someone—she wasn’t sure who—gathered her into his arms.

The last thing she felt was the soft brush of a blanket and the low murmur of Samuel’s voice giving quiet instructions about the curtains.

She slept soundly after that.

...

Morning came gently.

April’s eyes opened to darkness. The heavy curtains had been drawn tight, sealing the room against the sun. No harsh light, no noise. Just the quiet hush of a room that had decided, for once, that she was allowed to stay in bed for as long as she wanted.

Her head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. The revitalization water would erase it in a second—along with every mark, every faint bruise, every lingering tenderness between her thighs. She considered it for a long moment, then let the thought drift away.

She wanted to keep the evidence.

Even drunk, she remembered everything. The way Nat had laughed against her spine. The way Xavier’s voice had gone rough when he whispered her name. The way Alexander had looked at her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.

Heat bloomed across her cheeks. A small, private smile curved her lips.

She shifted under the covers, feeling the pleasant ache settle deeper, and closed her eyes again.

”Ten days left,” she whispered into the quiet. ”Ten more days...”

Sleep took her once again, the silver ring cool against her cheek.

An hour later, Samuel stepped quietly into her bedroom, his gloved hands gently lifting her shoulders to prop her up against the pillows. Then, he held the warm teacup to her lips, letting her sip the spiced ginger tea he had freshly brewed, followed by the hangover medication he had prepared.

”Rest well, Miss April,” Samuel had murmured softly before laying her back down and pulling the covers over her shoulders.

Thanks to his meticulous care, when April finally woke up again in the late afternoon, her mind was completely clear. The persistent, dull headache was entirely gone, leaving only the pleasant, lingering soreness between her thighs to remind her of the wild, unrestrained night on the dining table.

Feeling fully refreshed, April slid out of bed, smoothing down her simple, oversized pajamas, and walked out of her bedroom into the grand hallway.

As she made her way down the sweeping staircase, her eyes instinctively traveled toward the open dining hall. The moment her gaze landed on the long mahogany table in the center of the room, she froze in her tracks, a sudden, burning flush instantly blooming across her face and neck.

Images from the night before flashed vividly through her mind—the cool wood against her bare skin, the clattering glasses swept aside, the erotic moans echoing through the hall, and the heavy weight of three men claiming her over that exact piece of furniture.

”Samuel... Samuel!” April called out, her voice slightly strained as she tried to keep her composure.

”Yes, Miss April?” Samuel responded smoothly, appearing out of the side corridor like a silent ghost.

April pointed a trembling finger directly at the long mahogany table. ”Let’s... let’s get rid of that,” she stammered out, her cheeks blazing.

A booming, wicked laugh echoed from the lower lounge below.

April turned her head toward the sound and found Nat leaning casually against the archway. He was completely shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants, a dark, dangerous smirk spreading across his handsome face.

”You want to get rid of such a memorable furniture?” Nat drawled out, his eyes burning with dark, teasing delight as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. ”No way in hell, sweetheart.”

April’s eyes widened slightly as she stared at him, her face flushing even deeper. ”You... why are you shirtless?”

Nat’s lips curved into an even wider, smugger grin. Without a word, he slowly turned his back to her, deliberately flexing his broad shoulders to proudly expose the long, red finger scratches running all the way down his tattooed spine.

”Oh, nothing serious,” Nat chuckled darkly over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with wicked triumph. ”I just wanted some fresh air, you know?”

April flinched, her heart taking a sharp, heavy thump against her ribs as she stared at the undeniable marks her own nails had left on his skin.

This guy... he really has no shame at all.

One can’t shame the shameless.