Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

Meanwhile, back at the estate, the atmosphere was far less tranquil.

Theo stood in the middle of the quiet corridor outside the master suite, staring at the polished wood of the door as if it was a live explosive. He wiped a thin bead of sweat from his forehead, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves.

Before he could even raise his hand to knock, the door swung open with a slow, creaking sound.

Nat stepped out into the hallway, bare-chested and low-slung in a pair of loose dark trousers. His messy red hair was wild, his eyes still dark with sleep and lingering satisfaction, though a sharp, dangerous edge flared the moment he saw Theo standing there alone.

He glanced past his second-in-command, sweeping his gaze down the empty hallway.

”Where is she?” Nat growled, his voice thick and raspy from the morning.

Theo swallowed hard, standing at sharp attention as he braced himself for the fallout. ”Miss April has already departed for the culinary arena, Boss. With who I assume is her assistant.”

Nat’s jaw tightened, a low, frustrated rumble grinding in his chest as he crossed his arms over his broad, tattooed chest. ”She left without waking me?”

”She... ah, she explicitly said you had a long night and to let you sleep,” Theo stammered out, carefully picking every single word. ”And, Boss... she left a message for you. Well, for all of you.”

Nat raised a sharp eyebrow, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, his eyes narrowing with dark amusement and impatience. ”Spill it.”

Theo cleared his throat, trying to channel as much of April’s firm tone as humanly possible so the message wasn’t lost in translation.

”She said... that you shouldn’t even think of crashing into her private judging suite if you don’t want a piece of her mind.”

Silence stretched across the corridor for three long seconds.

Theo held his breath, half-expecting Nat to punch a hole through the wall or bark out a threat. Instead, a slow, wicked grin spread across Nat’s face, his low chuckle echoing down the grand hallway. He ran a palm over his face, shaking his head with a mixture of sheer exasperation and fond, possessive pride.

”Feisty little thing,” Nat muttered under his breath, his eyes glinting with pure sin. ”Thinks a warning is going to keep me away.”

He turned back toward his bedroom, throwing a sharp glance over his shoulder at Theo.

”Get the car ready,” Nat ordered, his tone instantly shifting into that of the Golden Dragons’ undisputed leader.

”And what about the Greels heir and Xavier Reed?” Theo asked cautiously, shifting on his feet.

Nat thought about it for a fraction of a second, a dark, arrogant smirk spreading across his face. ”Leave them. If they come along, they’ll just become another annoying stone to step over.”

Driven by the smug conviction that he’d be the only one standing by April’s side if he moved fast enough, Nat threw on a jacket, shoved his way out of the estate, and tore through the city traffic in his G-Wagon.

Arriving at the arena, he marched past the venue security like an unstoppable force. The guards, recognizing the terrifying Golden Dragon himself, and though they had been given strict orders not to let anyone up there, they couldn’t dare stop him.

Nat kicked open the grand door to her private judging suite, expecting to find April sitting alone, perhaps sipping tea while waiting for the meals to roll in.

Instead, the room was already occupied.

It wasn’t just Emily watching happily in the corner, or Samuel standing behind April’s chair with his usual serene perfection. There was one more eyesore in the room.

Oliver.

He was leaning back on the sofa right beside April, looking entirely too comfortable in her presence. Worse yet, his hand was brazenly wrapped around her delicate ankle, his fingers casually tracing the exposed skin above her shoe while April reviewed her judging notes, completely unbothered.

The low, triumphant smirk on Nat’s face died instantly, his eyes narrowing into a lethal, murderous glare as the temperature in the room plummeted to sub-zero.

”What’s that white mosquito doing?” Nat growled, his raspy voice laced with violence as his broad frame filled the doorway.

April sighed, rubbing her temple faintly. It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected him to make his way up here eventually; Nat was a born troublemaker, and warnings were usually nothing more than dare fuel to a man like him. But he had managed to get here far earlier than she anticipated.

”Can’t you see? He’s examining my ankle,” April said smoothly, her tone unbothered as she glanced up from her papers. ”Thanks to someone’s exceptionally hard grip.”

Because the minor bruise was just a simple surface mark rather than major wounds, using the vial of her revitalization water, which could potentially restore her hymen—not knowing how long she needed to wait until it no longer felt like a fresh wound to be healed—felt excessive.

So, she had opted to do things the old-fashioned way and let the doctor take a look—though she certainly hadn’t expected Oliver to compliment her leg once again.

Ever since that dinner night where he had first taken notice of her legs, the doctor had been paying far more attention to them than strictly necessary.

Oliver didn’t even flinch at Nat’s booming entry. Without lifting his hand from her ankle, the doctor used his free finger to casually push his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.

”The bone structure is intact,” Oliver noted in a cool, clinical voice that dripped with subtle provocation. ”Though the skin here is remarkably smooth. It would be a shame if a brute’s careless hands left another mark on such a fine canvas.”

Nat’s knuckles popped loudly as he slammed the door shut behind him, his golden eyes burning with pure, unadulterated fury.

”Take your fucking hands off her, Doc,” Nat spat, taking a deliberate step toward the sofa, ”before I break every single finger on them.”

Oliver tilted up his glasses, his dark eyes cool and utterly unbothered as his thumb brushed casually over the sensitive skin of her ankle. ”I am simply admiring a priceless work of art. What does that have to do with you?”