The air in my lungs was growing scarce, each breath searing like inhaling shards of hot glass.

I could not die there, not like this.

With a desperate instinct to survive, I dug into my pocket with the last bit of strength I had and pulled out my phone.

My fingers, trembling from lack of oxygen, managed to hit the speed dial I knew by heart, and I quickly typed out a text.

[Dad, help. Allergic reaction, at Victoria Garden Hotel, 3rd floor, Crystal Ballroom…]

As I hit send, my phone slipped from my limp grasp.

That was when I felt a stabbing pain in my leg. Yvette had jabbed me with her stiletto heel.

"Hey! Quit faking!

"Everyone, check this out. The show's getting real. She's twitching now! Should I call her an ambulance and get the spotlight on her?"

Laughter broke out, cruel and loud.

"Yvette, that's too much. Ella's just acting, let her be," someone chided.

"She's probably just trying to win Mr. Johnson's pity after losing face in the vote," another sneered.

Keith looked on, detached, merely sipping his drink without a hint of intervention.

Emboldened by his indifference, Yvette grabbed a chunk of chocolate from the box and forced it into my mouth.

"You like the drama, don't you, Ella? Here, have your prop. Eat up, and you might just snag an Oscar!"

The sharp edge of the chocolate with nuts tore into the corner of my mouth, the broken pieces mingling with my blood. The taste was so revolting I felt the urge to throw up, but I could not even muster the energy to gag.

My throat was clogged, the last wisp of air cruelly snatched away.

The world spun into a blur of colors before my eyes, the jeers around me fading into a distant echo.

'Dad, please hurry... I can't take it much longer...' I thought desperately.

As I teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, the banquet hall's doors were flung open with a bang.

The noise snapped everyone's attention to the entrance.

The man at the forefront bellowed with urgency, "Ella! I've come for you!"