Page 101 of The Hollywood Switch-up

She knew what was coming before Anneliese said it.

“I watched the behind-the-scenes footage they posted yesterday. The rooftop scene.” A pause—surgical, deliberate. “I’ve done a hundred press junkets, Erika. I’ve watched every interview Stefan Cruz has ever given. I know what he looks like when he’s performing and I know what he looks like when he’s not. And in that footage, he is not performing.”

“Martin pushed us to do seven takes. He wanted raw, he got raw. That’s the job.”

“The job doesn’t explain the way you leaned into him after the cut was called.”

The ocean through the villa wall, her sister breathing on the other end, nothing else.

"Is it still just sleeping with him? Or is it more than that now?"

“Anneliese—”

“Don’t. I already know the answer, I watched the footage. I just need to know how bad this actually is before it becomes everyone’s problem.”

“You’ve spent the last two years telling every reporter in town he’s the worst person in Hollywood. You don’t get to tell me who he actually is.” It came out sharper than she intended. Or maybe exactly as sharp as she intended.

“I’m not telling you who he is. I’m telling you what happens when this gets out. It’s not just your heart, Erika, it’s the switch. It’s the entire production. It’s my career and yours and his⁠—”

“Your career?” Erika heard her own voice go cold. “I’m here because you asked me to be here. I left my life, my painting, the tiny bit of space I’d managed to carve out for myself—I am lying to everyone on this set every single day because you needed someone to cover for you. So don’t call me from your perfect apartment with your perfect hair and tell me I’m the one putting this at risk.”

The silence that followed was worse than the yelling.

Anneliese’s jaw was tight. Her eyes were bright. For a moment she looked exactly like Erika felt—terrified and furious and holding it together with her fingernails.

“It's more than that now.” Erika said it. Looking right at her sister’s face—finally not lying to it. “But that’s not what the footage proves. It just proves we're bad at hiding it.”

Anneliese stared at her. “Olivia will call you within the hour. Whatever she tells you to say, say it exactly.”

“I know how to stick to a script, Anneliese.”

“Then stick to this one.” Her voice had steadied but her hands hadn’t. “Because if this falls apart, I can’t protect you. I won’t be able to protect either of us.”

Anneliese ended the call, and Erika set the phone face-down on the nightstand and pressed her palms flat against her knees. She couldn’t explain that yet. Not until she knew what she was going to do about it.

Olivia called before Erika had set the phone down. No greeting—clipped, moving fast.

“The studio’s legal team has been on me since six. Breach of contract is on the table, so listen carefully. The official position is that the timestamp is doctored. Tabloids manipulate metadata constantly—we’re pushing that hard with Page Eight’s editor and it’ll hold long enough to get through the next forty-eight hours. When anyone asks—and they will ask—you were here. All day. The photo is fake, old, or both. Say it back to me.”

“The photo is fake, old, or both.”

“Good. I’m releasing a statement in ten minutes. Until then, you talk to no one. Not the crew, not Martin, not Stefan. Especially not Stefan—that behind-the-scenes footage is getting traction and the last thing we need is the two of you giving anyone else something to screenshot.”

Erika closed her eyes. So Olivia had seen the footage too. Of course she had. Everyone had.

“I need you to be present and professional and boring today, Erika. Can you give me something boring?”

“Boring was my entire life before this job.”

“Then lean into it. We’ll get through this. But I need you airtight.”

The call ended, and the villa went still around her. She sat with the phone in her lap and Olivia’s voice in her head—especially not Stefan.

A knock. She opened the door expecting a PA with script changes.

Stefan. Still in yesterday’s clothes, hair wrecked, and she knew before he spoke that he’d been awake as long as she had.

“Don’t—” She held up a hand before he could step inside. “Olivia said not to talk to anyone. Especially you. The footage is getting traction and if someone sees you walking into my villa⁠—”