Page 65 of The Hollywood Switch-up

He looked down at the ruined pages bleeding ink and charcoal into her lap. Every drawing of him dissolving into nothing.

“We’ll dry them out,” he said. “We can save them.”

She closed her eyes. He had no idea what she’d heard. No idea that the woman sitting next to him had already left. He was still being kind, still being the version of himself she’d almost believed in, and she wanted so badly to let him.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. Let herself have this one last moment while everything fell apart around them.

But then he reached for her, his hand moving as if to steady her or take the weight of the book, and the spell snapped. The memory of his voice whispering with Isabelle—managing her, “handling” the situation—surged back.

She jerked away, snapping her spine straight. She flinched before his fingers could even brush her skin, the warmth of his shoulder now unbearable.

STEFAN

The tarp snapped overhead, but it held. Small mercies. Isabelle had pulled him into this gap between storage units five minutes ago, her grip on his arm urgent in a way he hadn’t seen since Cabo. He knew now.

“Two weeks.” Isabelle’s voice was low, barely audible over the storm. “Her lawyers confirmed it this morning. The NDA expires, and she’s ready to go public.”

Stefan exhaled. Stasia Larke, the actress who’d walked off Martin’s last production and vanished. Eight years of silence, and she was finally ready to tell people why.

“Stasia’s certain?” he asked.

“She’s terrified, but she’ll go on record.” Isabelle’s hand found his forearm. “We need to keep this airtight until Stasia’s ready to go public. If Martin finds out before we have everything in place, he buries it. He buries her. Everything Stasia’s built toward—gone.”

He thought of Martin yesterday on set, and the familiar cold anger moved through him. The same patterns. The same techniques he’d used on Stasia.

“The Morgan situation complicates the timeline,” he said. “Martin’s obsessed with her. Watches her constantly, finds excuses to be alone with her. If anyone finds out what she’s been hiding before we’re ready⁠—”

“Her performance issues?” Isabelle arched an eyebrow.

“Call it that.” He wasn’t about to explain the twin switch. Isabelle didn’t need to know, and the fewer people who did, the safer Erika was. “Martin’s paranoid. On edge. If he suspects we’re building a case, he’ll bury the evidence and disappear to some country without extradition.”

“Then we move carefully.” Isabelle’s hand was firm on his shoulder. “Two weeks, Stefan. That’s all we need.”

Joder. He needed to find her before the ferry left.

Isabelle must have read his face, because she laughed. “Go. Find your actress. Just remember what’s at stake.”

“I know what’s at stake.”

Isabelle studied him for a moment. Then she nodded, something like respect flickering in her eyes. “Two weeks. Keep your head down and your eyes open. And Stefan? Whatever's happening with the Morgan girl—keep it off his radar. Martin circles things he wants to take apart.”

She disappeared into the downpour, and Stefan stepped out from under the tarp into the storm.

He scanned the chaos: crew members sprinting toward the dock, equipment cases dragged through the mud, someone shouting about a generator. He pulled out his phone, shielding the screen with his hand.

Stefan:

Have you seen Erika? She’s not at the dock.

Lilliana:

She was heading there and then went rogue. Something about her sketchbook at your villa. I told her the ferry won’t wait and she stopped responding.

Lilliana:

Stefan. She was crying. Not the cute kind. The kind where someone’s holding themselves together with both hands and losing.

Stefan: