𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 •sᴀᴇʙʏᴇᴏᴋ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ•

4

Half the room filled with cheers, while the other half groaned with defeated sighs.

You didn't know how to feel, but in the end, you weren't allowed an opinion anyways.

"The majority of the players have voted to terminate the game. Therefore, this game is now terminated."

You found it a little odd that whoever was in charge here, would allow you to leave after what looked like ages of preparation.

"Hey! Okay, anybody who wants, they can go. But let the ones who want, stay till the end though." A man from the crowd ran forward. "Half of us died already! We can't just stop here!"

A bunch of others agreed with him and yelled at the masked men.

"It truly is a pity that we must say goodbye to you like this. However, we will not completely seal the door of opportunity for all of you. If the majority of you wish to participate again, then we will resume the game."

He paused.

"So, goodbye for now."

△

You woke up with a start, sitting up in a familiar bed.

You took a look around to find yourself back in your room.

The blinding, white walls and furniture hurt your eyes.

On a normal evening, you were required to be ready for dinner by 6 PM.

You had just twenty minutes left.

After running around your room to get dressed, you were escorted by one of the many guards in the estate to the dining hall.

When you arrived, you were met with the presence of your grandfather.
The room was dimly lit with candles, and the red walls were accented with golden trim.

He watched you silently as you sat down in your designated seat. It was an honor to be able to sit at this table.

At least, that's what they told you.

"Y/n. Let's talk." Your grandfather was seated at the opposite end of the long table. He held a cigar in one hand, tapping the ashes onto the small tray in front of him.

Your grandfather wasn't the forgiving type. He had grey, slicked-back hair, and fine jewelry covering nearly all of his large body.

Some might say he looked like a mafia boss, but definitely not the attractive kind.

Anxiety poked at you. Usually, when he said he wanted to "talk," he really meant that he wanted to insult and nitpick at every little thing you've done.

He lowered his head and bore his eyes straight into yours.

"I'm about to make you an offer you can't refuse."

Offer? He gives orders not offers...

"In three days you will be sent back. Win that money, and you'll never have to work for me ever again. You'll be free."