Page 27 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“Oh.” The word came out soft, unguarded—nothing like Anneliese. Anneliese was nowhere to be found.

His knuckles grazed her forearm as he reached past her for his water bottle. The world tilted. When she dared look up, his eyes had gone darker. Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she could stop it.

What if I weren’t her? The thought surfaced unbidden. What if I were just . . . me?

But she wasn’t. And Anneliese would never forgive her for wanting him to look at the real her like that instead.

“Anneliese! Stefan!” Laura’s voice shattered the moment like glass. “Hydration breaks over! Stefan, those delts are absolutely popping. Anneliese, honey, let’s see what you’ve got with the free weights!”

The spell broke. Erika stumbled back, her skin burning where his knuckles had grazed her. Stefan’s mouth quirked before he sauntered toward the bench press. She swallowed hard and looked away.

She grabbed a set of weights, nearly dropping one on her foot. “Didn’t know you could keep up,” he called over his shoulder. He settled onto the bench, the barbell rising and falling in his hands like it weighed nothing, veins mapping rivers across his forearms. “Always figured you for spa days and champagne cleanses.”

Playing to the crowd. Fine. Two could play that game.

“And I figured you for all brawn, no brain,” she shot back, curling her trembling fingers around a dumbbell. “Seems we’re both full of surprises.”

He watched her complete a set of perfect, controlled reps, her form surprisingly solid. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his face, before he let out a short, intrigued laugh.

“Seems we are,” he said, lower now, his eyes tracing a slow path from her face to her form, lingering just long enough to make her skin prickle beneath her workout clothes.

The rest of the workout was a blur of competitive energy, each of them pushing harder, faster, trying to outdo the other. When she finished her final set, he handed her a towel, his fingers brushing hers a beat too long. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, low. “Unless you’re afraid you can’t keep up.”

She should say no. Should channel Anneliese’s ice-queen dismissal and walk away. Instead, she heard herself.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” She pulled the towel from his grip, her fingers brushing his. The contact sparked up her arm. She turned before he could see her face.

Erika stumbled back to her villa, muscles humming. She collapsed onto the bed and reached for her phone. The explore page of GlamGram ambushed her with bold red text announcing Bradley Smart’s exit from the film—she froze. Shit.

She jabbed at Annie’s contact, heart hammering harder than it had during sprints. One ring. Two.

“Erika!” Anneliese’s voice burst through, breathless with excitement. “Tell me everything! Is the villa gorgeous? Did Bradley say anything about my VERVE cover?”

Erika’s throat tightened. “Annie⁠—”

“Wait, did he mention the Temmys party? Because I swear that whole cocktail thing was⁠—”

“Bradley’s not here.”

The line went so quiet Erika could hear the ceiling fan’s soft whir overhead.

“What?” Anneliese’s voice had dropped an octave. “What do you mean he’s not there?”

“He dropped out,” Erika said, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her reflection in the villa’s floor-to-ceiling windows looked like a stranger—blonde hair, designer workout clothes, someone else’s life. “They replaced him. With Stefan Cruz.”

“That backstabbing son of a—” Anneliese’s voice cracked, the venom dissolving into something rawer. “They knew. Martin knew what he did to me. This is how they fire me without actually firing me.”

Erika’s stomach twisted. “I need details, Annie. Not the tabloid version. What really happened between you two? I need to know exactly how to hate him.”

Anneliese’s breath hitched. “He got me fired from Glass Houses. My first real shot at being taken seriously as an actress.” Her voice hardened. “Whispered something to the director, and two days later, I was replaced. Then I beat his costar at the Temmys in 2021, and instead of being gracious about it he told a reporter I was ‘undeserving.’ Made jokes about ‘accidentally becoming an influencer’ all season.”

The line went quiet. When Anneliese spoke again, her voice was raw. “He took the one thing I wanted people to see me as. Not just pretty. Not just famous. But good.”

“Annie . . .” Erika’s fingers tightened around the phone.

“That’s who you’re dealing with, Bean. Someone who takes things just because he can.” Anneliese exhaled. “So whatever he tries—the charm, the smirk, that whole brooding wounded-artist routine—don’t fall for it. He’ll use anything he can against you. Against me.”

“I won’t,” Erika said, though the phantom pressure of his knuckles still burned against her skin.