Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

The new, handcrafted walnut dining table had been delivered and set up by late afternoon, completely replacing the mahogany piece. Yet as evening descended over the estate and they all sat down for dinner, the change of furniture proved entirely pointless.

Every time April looked at the polished surface, vivid memories of the previous night came flooding back—the cool wood against her spine, the frantic clatter of crystal being swept aside, the deep, ragged breaths echoing under the chandelier, and the suffocating heat of three men claiming her right there.

April groaned softly, shoving her fingers through her hair as a sudden, burning flush spread all the way down her neck.

It was a terrible idea to do it in the dining hall in the first place.

”Did something happen to the old one?” Emily asked innocently, setting her fork down as her eyes wandered over the fresh walnut grain. ”It looked completely fine yesterday. Was it broken?”

A choked sound escaped April’s throat. The flush surged from her neck straight into her face, burning so hot her ears throbbed. Across the table, Nat’s low chuckle turned into an outright bark of laughter, while Alexander brought his napkin to his mouth to hide his quiet, unholy smirk. Xavier merely tilted his wine glass in her direction, his dark eyes gleaming with cool, unspoken mockery.

”Enjoying the new decor, sweetheart?” Nat teased, his voice dripping with playful malice.

”Don’t ask,” April mumbled, burying her face straight into her hands. Her cheeks blazed bright red beneath her palms, though a quiet, helpless smile tugged at her lips despite herself. As insufferable as they were, she couldn’t bring herself to hate it.

That night, the men surprisingly gave her some breathing room to properly rest. Nat had to depart late to oversee a sudden dispute, while Alexander was called away by his grandfather for some urgent matter.

Xavier, however, quietly claimed her bed.

There was no wild passion, no intense demand. He simply held her close against his broad chest, pressing soft, lingering kisses into her hair and against her temples until her breathing slowed and she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sometime in the dead of night, the room was shrouded in total silence, broken only by the faint rustle of heavy silk drapes.

Xavier’s eyes snapped open in the dim moonlight. A soft, warm weight was resting directly on top of his chest.

He looked down to find April awake, her hair spilling over his collarbone. What is she doing? Sleepwalking?

She wasn’t sleepwalking. Her slender fingers were slowly trailing down his shirt, tracing a deliberate line past his chest, down his abdomen, until her palm came to a rest right over his lower belly.

Xavier’s entire body went rigid, his breath catching sharply in his throat as a sudden, violent surge of heat pooled low in his gut and he caught her hand.

”April,” he gasped, because he knew he had been caught.

”Xavier...” April whispered into the dark, her voice laced with a drowsy, intoxicating heat as her thumb caressed him through the fabric. ”...you’re hard. What were you dreaming about?”

Xavier swallowed hard. Releasing her hand, his hands instantly coming up to grip her hips, his voice dropping into a deep, breathless murmur.

”April... why aren’t you sleeping?”

Xavier’s hands stayed firm on her hips, holding her still even as heat surged low in his gut. The weight of her body on top of him, the soft press of her palm just above where he was hard, made it almost impossible to think clearly.

She shifted slightly, the silk of her nightgown sliding against his shirt. Her hair brushed his collarbone as she lifted her head just enough to look at him in the eye. Her eyes were hazy, but fully awake—soft, a little mischievous, and unmistakably wanting.

”I was,” she whispered. ”Then I woke up and you were... like this.” Her thumb stroked once more through the fabric, slow and deliberate. ”I got curious.”

Xavier’s breath left him in a controlled exhale. He caught her wrist again, gently this time, stopping the motion before it drove him completely out of his mind.

”You need rest,” he said, though the words lacked any real conviction. ”Last night was... a lot. The others are giving you space for a reason.”

April’s lips curved into a small, sleepy smile. She didn’t pull her hand away. Instead she leaned down until her forehead rested against his, her voice dropping even softer.

”I know. And I appreciate it.” A quiet pause. ”But I don’t want space from you right now.”

The simple honesty in her tone undid him more effectively than any deliberate seduction could have. Xavier’s grip on her hips loosened, then tightened again as she settled more fully against him. He could feel every soft curve of her through the thin nightgown, the faint warmth of her breath against his mouth.

”You’re still recovering,” he murmured, almost like he was trying to remind himself. ”If we start something, I won’t want to stop.”

April’s answer was a soft, affirmative hum. She tilted her head and brushed her lips against his—light at first, then deeper when he didn’t pull away. The kiss stayed slow, unhurried, tasting of sleep and quiet need. When she finally drew back, her voice was barely above a whisper.

”Then don’t stop.”

Xavier closed his eyes for a second, fighting the last of his restraint. Then he rolled them carefully, settling her beneath him against the cool sheets. He braced his weight on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush her, looking down at her face in the moonlight.

”Tell me if it’s too much,” he said quietly. ”Or if you change your mind.”

April’s fingers slid up into his hair, pulling him back down to her.

”I won’t.”

What followed was nothing like the frantic, competitive heat of the night before. Xavier took his time. Soft kisses along her jaw, the side of her throat, the hollow of her collarbone. His hands moved with deliberate care, relearning the shape of her under the nightgown before slowly easing the fabric up and off.

Every touch was unhurried, almost reverent, as if he were trying to memorize the moment rather than simply take it.

When he finally pushed into her, it was with a slow, deep roll of his hips that drew a quiet, contented sound from both of them.

April’s legs wrapped loosely around his waist. Her hands stroked up and down his back. Neither of them spoke much after that—just soft breaths, the quiet shift of sheets, and the occasional low murmur of each other’s names.

It didn’t last long. Neither of them needed it to. When the tension finally broke, it was gentle and complete, leaving them tangled together in the dark, hearts still racing against each other’s skin.

Xavier stayed inside her for a long moment afterward, his forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in. Eventually he eased out and peeled off the condom, pulling her close again, and tucking her against his chest the way he had at the beginning of the night.

April’s fingers traced idle patterns over his collarbone. Her voice was drowsy when she finally spoke.

”That was so sweet, Xavier. I liked it.”

He kissed the top of her head.

”I’m glad you did,” he whispered back.