Page 11 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“He got me fired, Liv,” Anneliese whispered, her voice fierce. “After the Temmys, I posted one little response to his ‘undeserving’ comment, and he went scorched earth. Told the director I didn’t have the ‘grit’ for the part, that I was just some shallow internet girl who couldn’t handle real acting.” She snapped the breadstick in two with a sharp crack. “He builds his entire brand on being this ‘authentic’ tortured artist, but everything he does is a calculated move to tear people down. And now he has the nerve to say I have no talent?” She crumbled the pieces onto her plate. “Arrogant asshole. I’m not going to let him ruin my night.”

As she spoke, a shadow fell over their table. The atmosphere froze. Erika didn’t have to look up. The scent of gin and sandalwood arrived a second before he did, and her stomach dropped.

Oh no. Not now.

Anneliese glanced up. Her smile went cold. “Stefan.”

“Anneliese.” He nodded, pleasant enough—but his eyes swept the table and found Erika. Warmed. “Erika.”

Her name in his mouth, familiar now. Anneliese’s gaze sharpened, flicking between them.

“You two know each other?” The question was light. The tone was not.

“We met earlier,” Stefan said easily. “Your sister’s far better company than most of this crowd.”

Erika’s cheeks burned. She stared at the bubbles rising in her glass, feeling Anneliese’s stare like a physical weight.

“How nice.” Anneliese’s voice could have frozen the champagne. “Cornering her in some hallway. Very on-brand for you.” She tilted her head, smile sharpening. “She’s not one of your costars, Stefan. She doesn’t know your game.”

Stefan didn’t take the bait. His attention stayed on Erika, genuine. “The emerald suits you, by the way. I meant to say earlier.”

“It’s borrowed,” Erika said, then immediately wished she hadn’t.

“The best things usually are.” His smile turned conspiratorial.

“God, you’re predictable.” Anneliese’s champagne flute hit the table hard enough to slosh. “The brooding charm, the lingering looks—does this actually work on people? Or just the ones who don’t know any better?”

Stefan finally looked at her sister. The warmth vanished. “You’d be surprised.”

“Stay away from her.” Anneliese’s voice was trembling now. “I mean it.”

Stefan held her gaze for a long moment. “You know, I used to think you were just ambitious. Now I’m starting to think you’re scared.” He glanced back at Erika, something softer there. “If you ever want that real conversation—you know where to find me.”

He turned to go.

“Erika.” Anneliese’s voice was sharp. “Don’t even think about it.”

Erika blinked. “Think about what? I didn’t⁠—”

“I saw the way you looked at him.”

The accusation hung between them. Heat flooded Erika’s face—shame and anger tangled together.

Before she could respond, Anneliese was on her feet, champagne flute in hand, calling after Stefan’s retreating back.

“Annie,” Erika said quietly, reaching for her sister’s arm. “Don’t⁠—”

But Anneliese was already moving.

“Stefan, wait,” she called out, her voice suddenly sweet.

He turned, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Change your mind about my company?”

Anneliese closed the distance. “Actually, I wanted to tell you that you’re right. I should enjoy my evening.”

Annie, no⁠—

And with that, she flicked her wrist, sending an arc of golden champagne splashing across the front of his impeccably tailored suit.