Page 47 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“Yeah, well.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “What if he’s right? What if I’m not—” She stopped herself. Not who everyone thinks I am. “What if I can’t do this?”

The quiet of sunset had settled across the bay, broken only by the slap of waves.

“Can I ask you something?” Stefan shifted behind her.

“Depends on the question.”

“Why do you look at this role like it’s a prison sentence instead of an opportunity?”

She stared at the darkening horizon. “Because everyone expects me to be this . . . version of myself. The brand. The persona. And now I’m supposed to carry this whole film, and everyone’s watching, and I feel like—” She exhaled sharply. “Like I’m suffocating.”

“But what do you want?” His voice was quiet. “Not the brand. You.”

The question landed somewhere she hadn’t expected. No one had asked her that in years. Maybe ever.

“I don’t even know anymore,” she whispered. “I used to have these . . . dreams. Things I wanted to make, to create. But every time I tried . . .” She trailed off. “The universe kept saying ‘no, not you.’ So I stopped asking.”

“Sounds lonely,” he said. “Being famous and invisible at the same time.”

The truth of it stung worse than the salt spray. “At least I’m living something,” she said, forcing a hollow laugh.

“Let me help you,” he said. “We’ll run lines at my villa. Just us.” His thumb drew a small circle on her arm. “You just need to stop performing for Martin and start performing for yourself.”

“Why?” Her voice was raw. “What do you get out of this?”

He looked away, jaw flexing. “Selfish reasons, mostly." He shifted on the jet ski. "A costar who can't hold it together makes me look bad too."

She raised an eyebrow. “So, this is self-interest.”

“And partly because I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning while everyone watches.” He held her gaze. “Whatever happened between us before this version of you is different. I don’t know what changed, but I’m not going to pretend I haven’t noticed.”

“We’re both drowning out here,” he said. “Might as well grab the same life raft.”

His mouth quirked up at one corner. “And watching you finally tell Martin to go to hell would make this whole disaster worth it.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said.

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, and her chest answered it without her permission.

A distant engine growled across the water, breaking the moment. The rescue boat’s searchlight swept across the darkening bay, finding them. Stefan stood up, the jet ski rocking beneath his shifting weight.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Princesa.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. The boat drew closer, its engine cutting through the silence.

He glanced at the approaching light, then back at her. His expression shifted, softer, unguarded.

“And for the record? You’re doing better than you think. Stop being so hard on yourself, Erika.”

He said it like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just detonated her entire world.

She went rigid. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“What did you call me?”

Something flickered across his face, regret, maybe. “I shouldn’t have—not like this.”

“Stefan.” Her voice shook. “What did you call me?”