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

Wren stumbled back, pulling up his pants. Scarlett snapped up, pulling down her dress, not meeting my eyes.Another sob escaped my lips as daggers were piercing into my heart.Wren turned around, his eyes wide open, trying to come up with something.The truth hit me: based on the way they were clinging to each other, this wasn't the first time.“Elara…” Scarlett was the first to talk. But I didn't want to hear her. Not her.She wasn't just a stepmom to me, I considered her my friend the moment she married my father. How could she?Wren placed his hands on his head, seeming to regret this. But deep down, I knew he wasn't. If he was, he wouldn't dare do this to me.How could he? I loved him from the bottom of my heart.My memory rolled on everything I ignored, on every sign I wronged. The always ‘TV fixing’ thing, and other signs…How didn’t I notice? His sudden coldness. All my missed calls. The decrease in our intimate time.I swallowed my sobs. I wasn't going to cry. Not before them.

My heart thudded loudly as the bus stopped with a screech that sounded more like a scream. It lurched, making the chains hanging from the ceiling rattle.The door opened on its own with a metallic groan, and I swear I could hear my heartbeat.Somewhere in the distance, carnival music began to play. It was warped, broken, and scary rather than funny as it was supposed to be.As I peeked outside the window, I caught my reflection on the foggy glass. My face was pale—hollow eyes and afraid.“Dead?” I whispered to myself.I couldn't believe I was dead.But everything here seemed too… real.The air that tastes like iron. The foggy atmosphere that you could barely see your feet. And the smell was like wet wood.Was I really dead?Dead? I shook my head.No… no, no. Dead people don’t panic. Dead people don’t sweat. Dead people don’t…I touched my chest… ba‑dump, ba‑dump… it was there—my heartbeat.So… why is my heart beating like a trapped rabbit if I’m dead?And if I was not, then what was t