Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

Before Madam Morgan could process the blinding pain, Samuel caught her wrist, twisting her arm violently behind her back with a sickening crack.

"Ahh—!" she shrieked in pain.

Samuel paid no heed to her pain, reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head violently backward.

Madam Morgan gasped, her neck strained tight as she was forced to look up into Samuel’s face. The look in his eyes was anything but friendly—it was an abyss so cold, and lethal that it promised complete destruction.

"W-What are you doing to my wife?!" Steven Morgan yelled from his knees on the stage, his voice cracking in sheer terror as he watched blood pool around Selma. "Unhand her!"

"My wife is bleeding!" Sir Le Moreno yelled. "Someone... Call a medic! Call an ambulance! She’s going to bleed to death if you don’t do something!"

"Sir Le Moreno! Do something!" Steven panicked, scrambling backward against the marble.

Sir Le Moreno couldn’t do anything but call out for help but the socialites were all staring at him in sheer horror. What could they do when they were stuck here as well?

Sir Le Moreno looked at Selma squirming in her own blood, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, his pupils trembling as he could only fear the worse.

Then he looked at Nat’s smoking gun, and shrank further into himself, completely frozen. "P-Please... have mercy! Call a doctor!"

April didn’t hear a single word of their sniveling pleas.

Her gaze was locked entirely on the four faint, red beads of blood rising along Emily’s cheek.

The cold, calculating composure April had maintained all evening snapped, replaced by a suffocating, pitch-black aura of pure, unadulterated rage that filled every corner of the grand hall.

"Ha!" a single cold laugh escaped her lips. "Is that how it is?" her voice was small, fragile... almost unheard but it carried something lethal, something dangerous that even Nat could feel his spine crawling with an itch he couldn’t dare scratch.

April lifted her gaze. She was smiling, but there was nothing happy about the curve of her lips. "It’s not fun anymore," she whispered. "Let’s speed up the game a bit, shall we?"

She turned her dark gaze toward Xavier. "Xavier. Seize every offshore account, every property deed, every luxury asset tied to the Morgan and Le Moreno names. Freeze them, dissolve them, wipe them out. Do what you must. By morning, these families won’t own a single copper coin."

"Already in motion," Xavier replied, his deep voice carrying absolute, chilling authority as he finalized the sequence on his terminal.

Sir Le Moreno choked on his breath, his eyes bulging as his phone—despite having no signal—pinged repeatedly with frantic automated bank notifications of wiped accounts and liquidated stocks. "N-No! Our entire life’s work... our legacy!"

"Legacy?" April whispered, bending down until her face was inches away from Selma’s. "Your legacy ends tonight in this hall."

Selma, writhing on the marble in a pool of her own blood, looked up with bloodshot eyes. Even in her shattered, gory state, her toxic venom spilled out. "You... you despicable, worthless little—"

Before the word could fully leave her mouth, April brought her heel down hard, stepping directly into Selma’s gaping gunshot wound.

"AAAAAHHHHH!" Selma screamed, an ear-splitting, agonizing shriek echoing off the high ceiling. Her bloody hands scrambled frantically, grabbing at April’s ankle, trying desperately to push the crushing heel out of her shattered kneecap.

"Stop! Unhand my wife! You devil!" Sir Le Moreno yelled, trying to scramble forward, but Nat’s operative slammed a boot into his back, pinning the sniveling patriarch flat against the cold floor.

"Despicable?" April whispered softly, her eyes flashing with a terrifying, pitch-black abyss.

She pulled her foot back and kicked Selma squarely across the face.

Selma’s head snapped back, her nose breaking with a sickening crunch. She was the evil one here—the monster who encouraged her son to torment his wife, who engineered the brutal loss of Emily’s unborn children simply because she deemed Emily worthless.

April stepped on the ruined kneecap once more, grinding her heel into the fresh wound before delivering another hard kick straight to Selma’s jaw.

The hem of April’s shimmering sapphire dress was stained with thick, dark crimson, but she didn’t even flinch as Selma slumped onto the marble, foaming at the mouth and twitching in agony.

"You’re out of luck," April hissed, leaning down close to Selma’s ear, "I happen to have a soft spot for my sister, and I adore her. I managed to heal all the physical scars you lot left on her body, but not her heart. And yet you dare to inflict another mark? You have a death wish."

Behind her, Emily watched, her heart swelling with deep, overwhelming affection. "April..." she whispered softly.

April let out a short huff, straightening her back and looking down at the semi-conscious, foaming woman. "You wanted to see your son so badly? Well, you’ll meet him soon. You all can reunite in the rotten cell that suits your soul perfectly."

She turned her dark eyes onto Madam Morgan, who was still pinned face-down by Samuel.

"Samuel," April commanded coolly. "Break her arm."

Madam Morgan’s and Steven’s eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. "No! Wait—!"

CRACK!

Before Steven could even utter a protest, Samuel executed the order without a second of hesitation. Madam Morgan’s screech of agony tore through the hall as her arm snapped like a dry twig.

April casually surveyed the rest of the kneeling, defeated figures—Steven, Sir Le Moreno, Cai, and Matilda—their faces pale as corpses.

"As for the rest of them," April said, her voice dropping into a smooth, melodic chill, "break a limb each and carry them to the cars. They’re all our prisoners now."

What followed was pure terror. Screams of agony filled the grand venue as the iron-faced enforcers systematically broke their limbs as if they were bending soft rubber, dragging their limp, crying bodies out toward the rear transport they had prepared just for them.

The crowd of trapped elites stood frozen in dead, terrified silence, trembling like leaves.

April slowly turned toward the sea of socialites and they backed up instinctively.

She lifted her slender hand, placing a single index finger over her lips. A dark, breathtaking, utterly evil smile spread across her face—a smile so chillingly beautiful that every person in the room instantly thought of the devil.

"Want me to read your fortunes?" April whispered, her sweet, melodic voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the locked ballroom. "In no less than 20 days, you’re all going to die. So live the best of your lives while you can... because it’s not going to last."

A collective shudder ran through the entire room.

The elites stood petrified, their faces draining of all color, interpreting her chilling prophecy as a promise that she would be coming for every single one of them next.

April smoothed down the rich sapphire silk over her hips, stepping past the dark crimson pool on the floor without a second glance. She reached out, gently lacing her fingers back through Emily’s, and turned her back on the bloodied hall.

Looking over her shoulder, April caught Nat’s glittering golden eyes.

"Nat, take care of things from here, will you?" April murmured smoothly, her voice cool and commanding. "Make sure word does not leave this room... and ensure all our esteemed audience leave with a smile on their faces."

Nat let out a loud, booming cackle that echoed off the high marble pillars, his chest rumbling as he cracked his massive, stone-like knuckles with an intimidating SNAP.

"You got it, sweetheart," Nat grinned, his eyes flashing with predatory delight as he turned toward the sea of trembling, petrified elites. "Alright, everyone! You heard the lady! Time to practice your happy faces!"

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