Page 113 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“Then don’t. I’ll handle the noise on my end.” Alex didn't linger on it—already onto the next problem. “What's actually going on? And don’t give me the press-conference version.”

Stefan stared across the set. Erika was back on her mark, listening to Martin gesture at the blocking diagram.

“She’s in trouble, Alex. Real trouble. And I can’t tell you the details because they’re not mine to tell, and don’t know if she’s told me everything anyway. But the situation is bad, and I’m not walking away from her.”

“Everyone keeps telling me to be smart.” His voice came out harder than he meant it to. “Isabelle says wait. Lily says wait. And every hour I spend being smart, she spends alone with him.”

“I hear that. And I'm still telling you: be smart.” A pause. “Two more days, Stefan. That’s what Isabelle needs. Can you get her two more days?”

“I don't know.”

“Find out. Because if you break first, none of this works—not for her, not for Stasia, not for anyone.” A breath. “Call me if that changes.”

He hung up. He watched Erika nod at something Martin said. He thought about everything he hadn’t told Alex—the flinch, the sightline, Isabelle’s eight years of files. And he wondered how many more hours of being smart he had left in him.

After the wrap, he watched her leave. She moved through the crew without making eye contact with anyone, grabbed her bag, and headed for the golf carts alone—practically jogging, shoulders hunched. Martin watched her go from the far side of the set, not smiling.

Stefan’s feet wanted to follow. His whole body pulled toward her as it had been pulling toward her for weeks. Erika had said you’re the opposite of difficult, that’s the problem, and he was starting to understand what she meant. What made him safe was what made him dangerous, because if she let him in, he would fight for her and Martin would use that, and she was keeping him out to keep him whole.

He understood it. He hated it. And he stood there anyway.

“You didn’t go after her.” Lily’s voice came from behind him. He hadn’t heard her approach.

“No.”

“Good.” She came to stand beside him, both of them watching the golf cart disappear down the path. “Because chasing her isn’t going to work. She’s got herself locked in so tight that the harder you push, the further she runs.”

“I can’t keep doing this. Standing here. Watching her disappear.”

Lily studied him. “You still got that friend? Nico? The one with the boat?”

He blinked. “How do you know about⁠—”

“You mentioned it over drinks after that first week.” She was already somewhere else in her head, working it through. “I need a day to work on her. Don’t corner her. Don’t push. Just be around. Visible, consistent. Let her see you’re not going anywhere.”

“And then what, Lily?”

“And then maybe we get her somewhere she can actually breathe.” She glanced at him. “No promises. But it’s better than this.”

She walked away, and Stefan stood in the sand. The light drained from the sky.

And he thought about the opposite of difficult—what it meant, what it cost her, what it was going to cost him—and he stayed where he was, patient, steady, still, even though every part of it felt like dying.

ERIKA

The villa was still dark when the alarm went off at 4:15, and Erika moved through the routine without thinking—cold water, costume, hair tied back. She’d stopped thinking days ago, when Martin called her into his office, broke her life open, and rearranged the pieces..

His text had come late last night. 4:45 call time. She walked to the beach in the dark, the humidity wrapping around her, and the equipment trucks were there—dark shapes against the horizon—but no crew, no lights, no cameras. She checked her phone. Waited.

Lena showed up at 5:23 with her clipboard and her professionally smooth expression. “Miss Morgan. Mr. Blackwell bumped you to 2 p.m. The revised call sheet went out an hour ago.”

Erika stood there with sand in her shoes and the sunrise turning everything gold behind her, and she understood exactly what had happened.

“An hour ago,” she said.

Lena’s eyes slid past her shoulder. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

She headed back to her villa without running, because if she ran, he’d know it worked. She couldn’t control the call times or the notes or the hand digging into her shoulder. But she could control the speed of her own feet on a path. Right now, that was enough.