I slowly sat up propped against the carved headboard after forcing down the last spoonful of ginger broth, its warm herbal bite lingering faint and soothing on my raw, sandpaper tongue but doing little to chase away the bone-deep exhaustion that weighed down every single limb like lead anchors.
My body possessed no real strength left to do anything meaningful—it felt as if a massive truck had crushed me flat into the mattress, then backed over me twice for good measure just to ensure total ruin.
All of my muscles throbbed weak and unresponsive throughout—legs jelly-numb and quivering from lingering fever chills that prickled my skin, arms trembling faint and unsteady just from the simple effort of lifting that spoon to my lips, core hollow and cramping vicious with residual starvation pangs now muddled into a nauseous fever fog that churned relentlessly in my gut.
Head pounded throbbing like a brutal drum behind my aching eyes, vision spotting black at the fuzzy edges every time I shifted too quick or blinked wrong.
My breaths came shallow and wheezy from congested lungs that rattled with every inhale, skin clammy-cold and slick despite the stubborn lingering flush burning hot on my pale cheeks and neck.
Blonde waves hung limp and greasy-matted around my gaunt face, sapphire doe eyes bloodshot glassy and sunken from endless tears, dehydration, and pure collapse.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed insistent and shrill on the nightstand—agent’s name flashing angry red across the screen like a warning flare.
I fumbled it weak to my ear with shaking fingers, voice croaking hoarse and barely audible.
“H-hello?”
“Lyra!
Where the hell are you right now?!
Shooting starts in an hour—crew’s losing light!” my agent barked loud and furious, voice tinny and grating through the speaker like nails on glass.
“I am not well at all today…
fever just down but head spinning constant.
Can I get leave just this once, please?” I pleaded soft and desperate, head lolling heavy against the pillow as dizziness swirled.
“No chance in hell!
You should be grateful you snagged these roles at all—eighteenth-tier scraps for a nobody!
Drag your sorry ass here and act, or you’re blacklisted from callbacks!”
“Please…
my head is spinning so bad, body aches everywhere like fire…” I whimpered faint, nausea surging bitter green up my throat in warning waves.
“Lyra Voss!
Don’t make me drive there and drag you myself—be here in 30 or kiss every future gig goodbye!” Click—she cut the line dead brutal, leaving silence ringing in my ear.
Cat, I am really not feeling well—everything hurts like hell.
Why can’t they give one simple day off?
“I know, Host, truly rough out there.
But they never grant holidays to rising stars like you in this cutthroat game.
For most industry folks, you’re just an eighteenth-tier actress with zero backing or clout to pull strings.
No one even knows you’re Silvia’s wife—marriage kept secret tight as a vault.”
No one knows at all?
Not even whispers?
“No, that was her hard condition from day one for the marriage—total secrecy, no public leaks or announcements ever.”
Oh…
fine then.
I should get up and get ready—no real choice here.
“Host, are you seriously going in this wrecked state?
Fever barely broken, ‘HP’ critically low.”
Yes, pretty sure Silvia’s left the house already by now anyway—coast clear.
I swung my legs over the bed edge with monumental effort that left me gasping, feet hitting the cold hardwood floor that sent fresh shivers racing electric up my calves and thighs.
Pushed up wobbly on spaghetti legs that nearly buckled twice, stripped out of the clammy cotton pyjamas slow and clumsy—top peeled sticky from layers of fever sweat caked on my skin, shorts shimmying down numb goosebumps on my thighs with a stumble.
Walked into the en-suite bathroom shuffling like a frail old woman half my age, marble tiles icy and unforgiving under my bare soles that made my knees buckle once hard against the sink edge.
I bathed with excruciating difficulty under the wide rainfall shower—hot water needled my hypersensitive skin red-raw and stinging, thick steam fogging the glass walls completely as I lathered weak and sloppy with unscented soap bar.
My arms shaking violent to rinse foamy shampoo from matted blonde waves that tangled like ropes, nausea roiling savage from the steam heat bending my empty stomach into knots, breaths panting short and ragged against repeated dizziness spells that forced me to grip the slick wall tiles for dear life, vision tunnelling gray.
“Host, don’t bath this much!
You will get sicker!”
I have no other choice.
Scalp tingled raw and scrubbed tender, body washed gentle but protesting over fresh bruises from my collapse and aches screaming bloody murder at every feeble lift or twist.
Towelled off trembling head to toe, fluffy white cotton rasping harsh and abrasive against my inflamed, fever-tender skin, patting dry my flushed torso and heavy-feeling limbs that barely obeyed commands.
Back in the bedroom, I rummaged through the walk-in wardrobe dizzy and swaying—selected a simple black sheath dress for low-key set neutrality.
Knee-length fitted just enough to hug my weakened curves without clinging too revealing, modest boatneck hiding the hollows shadowing my collarbones, cool silk lining sliding smooth against my lingering clamminess.
Makeup next, seated shakily before the brightly lighted mirror that spun faint and nauseating in my peripheral—foundation patted feather-light with a beauty blender over pallid sallow cheeks to mask the ugly fever flush.
Concealer dotted thick under bloodshot eyes to hide dark bruised circles blended careful with a trembling sponge.
Mascara applied sparse and cautious on clumped lashes to avoid raccoon smudges if fresh tears welled up, nude lipstick swiped quick and precise for a hint of colour on my cracked peeling lips, loose translucent powder setting it all matte to fight the greasy shine from sweat beads popping anew on my forehead.
Blonde waves finger-combed roughly into a low messy bun secured with pins, stray damp tendrils framing my face artfully dishevelled—professional enough but screaming fragile under the polish.
Why does my life always seem so relentlessly bad, one punch after another?
Silvia bullies me without a shred of mercy, and I’m pretty sure she’d have thrown me out on the curb by now if not for her aunt’s intervention, though she hates me too.
I descended the grand stairs slow as molasses dripping, gripping the smooth banister white-knuckled against crashing vertigo waves that tilted the world sideways, finding the foyer blessedly empty and silent.
Slipped outside through the side door to the attached garage where my modest silver sedan waited dusty and neglected under fluorescent lights.
The longest thirty-minute drive of my entire miserable life unfolded like slow torture—hands clenched white-knuckled on the steering wheel fighting constant spins that blurred lane lines into watery streaks.
Nausea crested in brutal green waves that forced me to swallow bile repeatedly or risk pulling over to vomit on the roadside shoulder.
Fever sweat trickled cold down my spine and soaking the dress back into a damp clingy mess, headache throbbing savage in sync with every pothole bump that jarred my skull like hammer strikes.
Radio static crackled meaningless under my shallow wheezes, rearview mirror reflecting my glassy bloodshot eyes and pallid mask of makeup cracking at the edges.
Why me?
Starving, fevered, bullied at home, whipped at work.
Escape feels centuries away, missions mocking me.
Fingers twitched numb on the wheel from dehydration grip, AC blasting arctic cold that raised fresh goosebumps but couldn’t touch the inner fire, traffic crawling infuriating as horns blared distant, every red light a personal curse stretching agony eternal.
Doubt gnawed deeper—Will I even make it without blacking out?
Finally, tires crunched weak over gravel into the movie lot parking, engine ticking hot as I killed it, world tilting black for a heart-stopping beat.
As soon as I cracked the car door open on buckling legs, my agent came running furious across the dusty lot in stilettos stabbing dirt clods, face twisted beet-red with rage.
“Lyra, you late incompetent idiot—kept the whole damn crew waiting two hours!
What fresh excuse this time, fever drama bullshit?
Move your ass to wardrobe now, or you’re fired mid-fucking-take—no second warnings!”
“S-sorry…
c-coming right now,” I mumbled faint and slurred, legs buckling full as I stepped out onto unstable gravel, world tilting full black around the edges.