Sophia was doing everything in her power not to throw up all over the set.

During breaks, crew members hovered around her with handheld fans, trying to cool her down as sweat clung to her forehead. Makeup artists darted in between takes, gently blotting her skin and touching up her foundation—only for it to melt again moments later.

She was clearly unwell. Miserable, even. A bucket and vomit bag sat nearby, just in case.

But the performance had to be filmed. The show had to go on—and Sophia was practically the main vocalist on the track. There was no skipping this.

As the crew adjusted the cameras for another take, Sophia crouched beside the bucket, elbows on her knees, head cradled in her hands. Her breathing was shallow and deliberate, each inhale a silent prayer to keep her stomach from turning inside out.

She was holding on by sheer will—and barely at that.