CHAPTER FIVE – GOING OUT TO THE GALA

The high-rise apartment was alive with activity, filled with sunlight pouring through tall windows. Dresses hung on racks, shoes scattered on the floor, and the sound of a hair straightener filled the air. In the midst of it all, Madison stood in a white bathrobe, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. Bella, in a red robe, moved around quickly. "This one's too sparkly," Bella decided, tossing a dress away. "And this one doesn't suit you," she added, discarding another. Madison sighed. "Maybe a power suit?" she suggested hopefully. Bella laughed. "No hiding tonight. You need to shine!" A knock interrupted them. Bella opened the door to a courier with a big box. "Just in time!" Bella exclaimed, taking the box eagerly. "This might be perfect." She opened it to reveal a stunning emerald green dress. Madison tried it on, feeling the silk against her skin. The dress fit perfectly, and she felt a surge of confidence. "You look amazing!" Bella said, impressed. "Like a Hollywood star." Madison smiled. "I feel different." "Different in a good way," Bella reassured her. "And there's more good news. Remember that indie film? The director wants to meet you next week!" Madison's excitement grew. "Really? That's incredible!" Bella grinned. "Tonight's not just about showing up. It's about showing everyone how talented you are. Who knows, maybe this will lead to another dream role." Madison nodded, feeling determined. "Maybe it will." The sleek black car Bella hired cruised through the vibrant streets, arriving at the epicenter of Hollywood glitz. Madison, stunning in her emerald green dress, couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in her stomach. It had started subtly but had now grown into a full-blown wave of anxiety. "Excited?" Bella asked, her voice brimming with energy. Madison forced a smile. "Absolutely," she lied, her voice wavering slightly. Stepping out, they were engulfed by the flashing cameras and loud paparazzi. Madison felt dizzy, clinging to Bella for support. "Take it easy," Bella whispered, noticing Madison's distress. Pushing through the crowd, Madison's nausea worsened. The air was heavy with perfume and chatter, suffocating her. "I'm not feeling well," Madison confessed, feeling feverish. Bella checked her temperature, alarmed by the heat radiating from Madison. "Let's get some fresh air," she suggested. Madison stumbled onto a balcony, seeking relief. A man named Walter, the Museum Director, approached her. "Enjoying the view?" he asked, impressed by her presence. Madison smiled weakly, trying to distract herself. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit her, and she accidentally knocked over a champagne glass. Apologies spilled from her lips as the glass shattered below, causing a commotion. Mortified, Madison retreated, Bella rushing to her side. "You look terrible," Bella observed, concerned. "We need to find a quiet spot." They found refuge by the dessert table, where Madison slumped into a chair, her head pounding. Bella checked her temperature again, confirming a fever. Just then, a booming voice cut through the murmurs. "Madison Miller! I haven't seen you in ages! Looking radiant as always!" Madison looked up to see a portly man with a handlebar mustache and a name tag proclaiming him to be 'Harold, Film Producer.' A wave of nausea welled up again, stronger this time. Trying to appear polite, Madison mumbled a greeting. The man leaned in, his breath reeking of stale cigars, and bellowed, "So, I hear you're looking for a new project? Anything in particular catch your eye?" "...Actually," she slurred, feeling the world tilt slightly on its axis, "I'm quite picky when it comes to scripts. Unless it involves a talking goldfish and a tap-dancing grandma, I'm not interested." Harold blinked, his jovial expression faltering. A confused silence enveloped them. Bella, sensing the impending disaster, quickly jumped in. "Oh, Harold," she chirped, her voice strained with forced cheer, "Madison was just joking! She's actually very open to a variety of roles." Harold, still looking perplexed, mumbled something about catching up later and retreated into the crowd. Madison slumped back in her chair, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over her. "Maddie, you need to rest," Bella insisted, her voice firm but tinged with concern. "We're leaving." But as Bella stood up, a commotion erupted by the buffet table. A group of socialites, dripping with diamonds, surrounded a flustered waiter. A rare and expensive caviar dish had been knocked over, its contents spilling onto the pristine tablecloth. The smell of fish eggs filled the air, adding to Madison's discomfort. One of the socialites, a woman with a permanent frown, pointed an accusing finger at a bewildered busboy. "You!" she screeched, her voice dripping with indignation. "Look what you've done!" Suddenly, a misplaced sense of courtesy, or perhaps the fever finally affecting her brain, surged through Madison. She rose to her feet, ignoring the dizziness. "Excuse me!" she bellowed, her voice surprisingly loud given her weakened state. The crowd turned to the disheveled actress, their faces a mix of shock and confusion. "It's a misunderstanding!" Madison declared, her voice wavering but determined. "It wasn't the busboy's fault! I… I knocked it over." The socialites stared, their shock palpable. Even Bella looked at her with wide eyes, silently questioning her actions. Before anyone could react, Madison's stomach rebelled. A violent cough overtook her, followed by waves of nausea. Without hesitation, she stumbled towards the nearest trash can, her emerald dress becoming a casualty of her body's betrayal. The sound of retching echoed through the hall, shattering the illusion of perfection. Madison clung to the trash can, tears stinging her eyes, overwhelmed by shame. When the nausea finally subsided, she slumped against the wall, defeated. Shame washed over her, hotter than the fever burning in her veins. Madison felt ashamed and embarrassed, her face burning red with fever. People were judging her. She could feel their harsh glares and hear their mean whispers. Madison leaned against the wall, her vision blurring. She looked terrible compared to the polished perfection of the fancy gala around her. Just as Madison felt herself sinking into despair, a booming voice cut through the noise. "What is happening here?" The voice sounded aristocratic and furious. Madison weakly lifted her head to see Ethan towering over the crowd. His face looked thunderous, his eyes flashing with fury that made the onlookers shiver. "A grown woman is clearly sick," Ethan continued, his voice low and dangerous. "Instead of helping her, you all stand around like idiots gawking? Is this how you were raised to act?" Madison felt a small spark of gratitude amidst her shame. Through the haze of fever, she saw Ethan stride over, his eyes softening with concern when he looked at her. Before Madison could protest, Ethan scooped her up in his arms, her head resting on his broad chest. The familiar scent of his cologne made her feel dizzy. "Get her coat," Ethan ordered sharply. Two attendants appeared with a fur coat that Ethan gently wrapped around Madison. The cool night air helped clear Madison's head a little. She mumbled weakly, "Ethan..." "Don't worry, Madison," he murmured reassuringly. "We'll get you to the hospital soon." Everything blurred into a kaleidoscope of lights and hushed whispers as they carried Madison out and carefully placed her in the plush backseat of a waiting limousine. She felt cool water dabbed on her forehead and heard soft murmuring voices. Then blessed darkness claimed her, a temporary escape from the chaotic night.