Page 139 of The Hollywood Switch-up

Would it have changed anything? She didn’t know anymore. She didn’t know anything about Stefan except he haunted her dreams and she couldn’t stop being angry at him—angry at herself for trusting him, angry at the whole tangled mess of it.

“Maybe,” she said finally, “we both lost ourselves trying to save each other.”

Anneliese didn’t give up. “But you said he haunts your nightmares. Maybe if you heard his side⁠—”

“His name was on that statement.” The words came out flat and final. “And when everything fell apart he went silent. He let me believe I mattered and then he disappeared.”

She couldn’t finish. The anger was too big and underneath it was something worse. The grief of letting herself hope and being wrong.

Anneliese lifted her hands. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

Erika stared at the dashboard.

“You were trying to fix it,” she said, quieter. “But you can’t fix this, Annie. Not this time.”

Neither of them moved, and for a moment the car was the only contained space left in the world, small enough that nothing else could get in.

Then Anneliese said, “The article came out a few weeks ago. About Martin. About everything.”

“I know.” Flat.

“Did you read it?”

“No.” She couldn’t. The magazine had been in her drawer for four days and every morning she woke up knowing exactly where it was.

Anneliese kept her eyes on the windshield. “Stefan’s name is in it. He handed over evidence—Isabelle’s files, everything. He’s part of why the story broke.”

For one second, the world outside the car kept moving and everything inside it didn’t.

“I don’t care.” The words came out brittle.

Anneliese didn’t push. Just reached over and set her hand on Erika’s knee.

“It matters, Eri. I thought you should know.”

“It doesn’t.” But it came out thin, and they both heard it.

Anneliese squeezed once. “Okay. I’ll be here when you change your mind.”

Erika closed her eyes. The dark was easier.

“I’m never going to be ready.”

“That’s okay too.”

They sat there for another minute, maybe two—the engine ticking, the silence settling into something close to peace. Or just two people deciding not to push.

Anneliese opened her door, and the breeze that slipped in was enough to break the moment.

Inside, Bradley was at the stove. He looked up when they came in, and whatever he saw made him set down the spoon without a word—just crossed to Anneliese and pressed a kiss to her temple, one hand settling warm and steady on the small of her back.

“Hey. How’d it go?”

Anneliese leaned into him before pulling back. “Good. It was good.”

Erika looked away. She headed for the stairs before anyone could ask a follow-up question.

Her bedroom was exactly how she’d left it, the Klimt print still on the wall where she’d hung it. She looked away from it now without quite meaning to.