Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

​April took another delicate bite of her meal, chewing thoughtfully before setting her fork down. The atmosphere between them was warm and comfortable, but her sharp mind naturally drifted back to the practical realities of what was coming.

​”How is your bunker coming along?” April asked, shifting the topic cleanly.

​She hadn’t seen his construction project in person yet, but she knew Xavier’s personality. Unlike Nat—who was building a massive shelter purely for fun, games, and survivalist thrill—Xavier was building a sanctuary for the people he cared about. Namely, the core team of employees and executives who had helped him build his empire from the ground up.

​April had already given him her advice on how to structure things, but she had no intention of stopping him from doing what his heart dictated. It made total sense; after all, he carried the fundamental nature of a Saint. There was no way he would abandon his own comrades.

​”Construction is moving on schedule,” Xavier replied, his expression turning slightly serious as he spoke of his people. ”The structural reinforcement and supply stockpiling are eighty percent complete.”

​”Alright. But you have to be careful,” April said, her dark eyes locking onto his with an intense, unblinking focus. ”If push comes to shove, be sure to shove as hard as you can. Your life matters more to me than the likes of your employees.”

​Xavier’s heart slammed violently against his ribs. The air caught thick in his throat, a sudden wave of heat rushing straight up to his neck.

​She had just admitted—so plainly, so directly—that he mattered to her.

​It wasn’t that he didn’t already suspect she would choose him over his staff if forced to make a cold calculation. But hearing it spoken aloud, with that absolute authority in her voice and that intense, protective stare... to Xavier’s hopelessly smitten mind, it sounded like a grand declaration.

​Don’t die for anyone else. Live long, and stay with me.

​His internal delusions were running completely wild, but he didn’t care in the slightest. April had explicitly stated that his life held value to her, and that was more than enough to send a dizzying rush through his veins.

​”I understand,” Xavier murmured, his ears flushing a deep, radiant crimson as he looked down at his plate to hide his flustered grin. ”I’ll keep that in mind.”

​Across the main dining hall, far from the quiet balcony, a deeply irritated doctor was currently enduring a special kind of hell.

Oliver Baxter walked through the entrance looking utterly bored, trailing a small entourage of nervous, kiss-ass business executives.

He tilted his glasses up his nose, his deadpan expression unyielding as one of the men rambled on about how generously he would compensate the ’Miracle Surgeon’ if he agreed to perform a second liver transplant on his son.

​Oliver stared at the man with cold indifference. He knew the son. He had already performed one liver operation on the ungrateful brat a year ago after excessive drinking and smoking had destroyed his organs. And now, the boy had gone right back to his self-destructive habits.

​What do I care? Oliver thought dryly. I get paid regardless. But with each operation, he’s just speeding up his own expiration date. I’m a surgeon, not an omniscient deity.

​He let out a quiet sigh as the men led him toward a central table. He could have been back at his private lab, comparing notes on the spatial distortion theories he had observed from April’s strange abilities. Instead, he was trapped here.

The only reason he hadn’t dropped by the estate today was because he knew April was on her period—and clinical logic dictated that women experiencing heavy cramps were prone to heightened irritability. He didn’t want to risk getting his research access revoked because he annoyed her at the wrong time.

​The world is heading straight to hell anyway. Should I just quit active surgery entirely and focus on full-time research? Oliver pondered, sitting down as the men continued to chatter. It would certainly be a more efficient use of my intellectual capacity.

​As his eyes scanned the room with supreme detachment, they lazily landed on the far glass-enclosed balcony overlooking the bay.

​He froze.

​Even from the back view, he immediately recognized the broad shoulders of Xavier Reed. And sitting across from him was April.

​Oliver’s eyes glinted sharply behind his lenses. He had never felt so utterly relieved to be dragged out to a mundane dinner in his entire life.

​”Excuse me,” Oliver said flatly, standing up from the table without waiting for a response. ”I’m going to the restroom.”

​Ignoring the confused calls of his dinner hosts, Oliver pivoted away from the washroom corridor and headed straight toward the secluded balcony at the end of the floor.

​As he approached the table, the quiet clatter of silver echoed from the balcony. April had accidentally nudged her fork, sending it sliding off the tablecloth and clattering onto the floor near the edge of her chair.

​Before Xavier could reach for it, Oliver stepped smoothly into the private space, dropping down into a neat squat to retrieve the dropped utensil for her.

​”Allow me,” Oliver murmured smoothly.

​He extended his hand to pick up the silver fork, but as he lifted his gaze, his eyes inadvertently landed on her legs.

​Oliver froze instantly.

​He had certainly seen April’s legs before—she occasionally wore dresses that sat above the knee—but right now... the sight hit his brain like a physical shockwave. The semi-transparent black stockings hugged every curve of her calves and the smooth contour of her thighs, creating a stark, striking contrast against her pale skin.

​His eyes compulsively trailed upward—starting from her bare, arched feet resting beside her discarded stilettos, tracking past her ankles, over the smooth bend of her knees, and sweeping up the length of her thighs right to the hem of her tight pencil skirt.

​”Dr. Oliver?” April’s voice cut through the quiet air.

​Oliver snapped out of his daze so fast his spine went rigid.

​He stood up abruptly, his mind reeling in sheer, chaotic confusion. He couldn’t explain what had just happened using any rational medical framework, but he knew with absolute certainty that for a brief, terrifying second, his cardiac rhythm had experienced a complete arrest. In simple terms, his heart had stopped.

​My heart stopped? Oliver analyzed frantically in his head, his internal pulse racing as he adjusted his white coat over his sharp suit. Transient cardiac arrest followed by immediate sinus tachycardia... my heart rate is currently accelerating at approximately 190 beats per minute. Acute hyperventilation, sudden vasoconstriction, elevated adrenaline release... What is the physiological trigger? Why did a simple visual assessment of dermal coverage and muscular tension in her lower extremities cause an acute systemic crisis?!

​”What are you doing here?” April asked, tilting her head as she observed his unusually flustered, rigid posture.

​Oliver cleared his throat twice, forcing his clinical mask back over his reddening face as he held out the clean fork he had retrieved, though his fingers trembled ever so slightly.

​”I was dragged here by a few clients who wish to utilize my surgical skills,” Oliver explained, casting a brief, dismissive glance back toward the main hall, where the group of ass-kissers still hadn’t realized he had completely abandoned them. ”But then I happened to spot you... and decided I would come say a simple ’hi.’”