Death Is Only The Beginning: Survival Game

Rule number one in life: as a woman, learn when to give… and when to stop.

Never offer more than you are supposed to.

“You’re fired, Elara!”

My eyes fluttered as I stared down at the termination letter my boss had thrown on my desk. Disbelief washed over me.

I snapped my gaze up at him. He couldn’t be serious. Could he?

And there it was; the stern look on his gloomy face answered me.

I shook my head in denial.

“You are joking, aren't you?” My voice trembled slightly, even though I tried to keep it steady.

For three years, I had been the agency’s workhorse, ghostwriting horror fiction like a mule.

“You have two hours to clear your desk, Elara,” he ordered, his voice carrying no warmth, no appreciation. He simply turned to leave.

“No, please! There must be a mistake!” I rushed after him, clutching his sleeve.

He shoved me off. I stumbled back, my leg hit the edge of the desk. Even though it hurt hard enough to bruise, I didn’t flinch. I couldn't care less.

I could not lose this job. Not now. Not in this critical time.

“Sorry, Elara. But you didn’t meet the deadline most of the time.” I shook my head, this wasn’t true. “And we’re facing a financial crisis, so we have to reduce the number of employees.”

Lies. All lies.

I always meet deadlines, and the agency was performing so well. They even sold fifty exclusive stories to Hollywood.

I stood frozen.

A heavy weight of abandonment pressed on my chest.

They wanted to attribute all the work and the stories I wrote to themselves. I was okay with them attributing the books to the agency's name. That was the main deal.

However, now after they captured the attention of Hollywood directors, they wanted to attribute the stories to themselves as the real authors.

I learned that lesson too late.

I just knew no matter how hard I tried, they would do what they wanted, what they needed. And they would not miss such a big opportunity for a girl like me.

A funky girl too scared to fight. Too scared to claim her rights.

Easily defeated, I sighed and started to gather my belongings.

It was already midnight; exhaustion crawled through my bones. I had slept for just four hours daily for the last two weeks just to meet their deadlines.

I folded the termination letter and slipped it into my back pocket. I breathed heavily, my fingers tightening around the box in my hands.

The office was already empty; all the employees had left long ago.

Even though I was totally frustrated, I smiled when I stopped a taxi. Tomorrow would be the official launch day of the Vendor Real Estate Group established by my boyfriend, Wren Vendor.

I believed in him and helped him financially for the past three years to grow his business.

He will propose to me tomorrow night after the launch party.

As the taxi navigated between the streets, I rested my head on the car window. It was too heavy and my eyes were barely open. I was so tired.

Once the car pulled up to the neighborhood and parked in front of our house, I paid the taxi driver, grabbed my box, and staggered to the door.

The living room was empty. Could it be that they slept already? I glanced at my watch; it was one o'clock after midnight.

I let out a deep sigh as I looked at the stairs like they were a real challenge, but I started climbing up anyway. On the last few steps, I heard a strange noise.

My heart raced.

I frowned. Could it be that Wren had someone with him?

No way!

Wren would never do that to me.

I stumbled on the last step, and before I carried myself up, Wren rushed out of my stepmother’s room.

“Elara! Honey, what happened? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice pitched with worry as he helped me stand up.

“I’m fine, I just sprained my ankle,” I replied, guilt washing over me. How did I suspect him for even a split second?

He lifted me up in his arms. I moaned like a small kitten at the warmth of his chest.

“Is my stepmother okay?” I asked, closing my eyes as he headed toward our room.

“Yep! She just needed me to fix the signal of her TV,” he said softly.

I caressed his cheek. “Thank you, Wren. I don't know what's wrong with her TV all the time. You have done so much for this family.”

After my father died, I convinced Wren to move in with me. We were two ladies and needed a man in the house.

The heavy guilt of losing my job pressed down on my chest, and my eyes welled up with tears.

He placed me on the bed, started helping me change my clothes, and asked, his voice tender, “What’s wrong, baby? Was it a bad day?”

“I lost my job!” I declared; my voice was a little harsh.

He stayed silent for a moment, then said, “It’s okay, darling. We will launch our company tomorrow, and you won’t need to work again.”

“You are not mad?” I was a little surprised.

“Not at all…” He hesitated. “It’s just… did they pay you? I need fifty thousand for the launch tomorrow. As you know, we invited important potential clients and we have to serve them well.”

To be honest, I didn’t know about all of this. I barely came home. I barely sat with him. We barely even talked.

I had always been working.

So immersed in crafting my horror stories, day and night.

I neglected my appearance, food, and exercise.

My face was pale with big dark circles around my eyes from staring at the laptop screen all the time. And also from the sleepless nights.

“Okay, in the morning I will transfer all the money. But you have to know this is all my last savings.”

“Elara,” he started, seeming hesitant. “Can you transfer it now? I have important things to do in the early morning.”

I was too tired to even do so. I handed him my phone. “You do it.”

I loved helping him. It gave me the feeling of self-satisfaction. Even if this was over my power, the important thing was that it kept us together.

I could not remember how I slept. Suddenly, my eyes fluttered. I extended my hand to hug Wren, but his side of the bed was empty and too cold.

Blindly, I searched for my phone, opening one of my eyes, the clock read: 4:14 a.m.