Page 80 of The Hollywood Switch-up

Eri:

Your personality is what kept me up. Your shoulders are what made me reach for the pencil.

Stefan:

¡Dios mío! You can’t send me things like that while I’m standing next to the sound guy.

Stefan:

Tonight. Your villa. Bring the sketchbook. I want to see what you do with me when I’m awake.

A voice crackled through Lena's walkie—something about a wardrobe delay two tents over. Lena listened for a beat, then ducked out of the tent without a word.

Lily set down the brush and dropped into the empty chair across from the mirror.

“The whole crew has had a pool running since the jet ski scene. Jax has fifty on ‘before wrap,’ Lena put twenty on ‘already happened.’” She dropped into the empty chair. “Lena’s about to be fifty dollars richer, isn’t she?”

Heat flooded Erika’s face.

“That’s what I thought.” Lily’s expression softened. “I’ve watched him, the way he looks at you. Cruz is not who I thought he was. And I don’t say that lightly.”

The relief hit her before she'd expected it. Stefan telling her she mattered was one thing—he was compromised, obviously biased. But Lily had no reason to lie, and Lily saw it too.

“But something else is going on, and I need you to listen.” Lily’s voice dropped. “I’ve been hearing things. LaVoz things. There’s a name floating around—Stasia Larke. She was the lead on Martin’s last film, Midnight Run. Walked off set mid-production and disappeared from the industry completely. At the time everyone said she had a breakdown.” Lily’s voice went flat. “But the whispers I’m hearing now tell a very different story.”

Erika’s skin went cold. Stefan’s voice in her head—there’s another woman. Someone Martin hurt. Years ago.

“What kind of story?”

“The kind that ends careers. The kind where lawyers get involved and NDAs have expiration dates.” Lily studied her face. “You know something. I can see it.”

“I can’t talk about it, Lily. It’s not my story to tell.”

“So Stefan told you.” Lily absorbed that. “Which means Isabelle’s involved—she and Stasia were close before everything went sideways. That’s what those little tarp meetings have been about.”

Erika said nothing, which was answer enough.

“Here’s what scares me.” Lily leaned forward. “Martin’s paranoid right now. He’s cornering crew members, asking questions about you, watching your blocking like he’s looking for cracks. If he’s sensing that something’s shifting—if he catches even a whiff of you and Stefan being real—he won’t just come for your relationship. He’ll start pulling every thread he can find. And if one of those threads leads him to whatever Isabelle and Stefan are building against him, the whole thing unravels.”

It landed differently now. It wasn’t just about protecting a secret relationship anymore. It was about protecting Stasia.

“So when I say keep it invisible on set, I’m not just talking about your love life.” Lily grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Martin is circling. And if he figures out that the people around him are closing in, he won’t wait to be cornered. He’ll burn everything down first.”

The set was controlled chaos—grips hauling cables, lighting techs adjusting rigs. Erika stepped out of the tent with Lily’s warning still ringing in her ears.

Stefan was already at the monitor beside Martin. He didn’t look up when she approached, and he didn't seem to notice but his knuckles had gone white around the coffee cup.

Martin walked them through the blocking—where to sit, when to lean in, the exact moment Luna’s defenses were supposed to crack.

“This is the turn,” Martin said, circling them. “The audience needs to feel that she’s losing control. That she wants him even though she knows better.” His gaze lingered on Erika. “Think you can manage that, Anneliese?”

“I’ll do my best.” She gave him her sister’s voice—cool, faintly bored—and watched his smile falter before he retreated to his monitor.

The cameras rolled. Every time Martin’s attention drifted to the playback screen, Stefan found ways to make it impossible to think.

His knee brushed hers beneath the table and stayed there. His fingers grazed her wrist when he reached for his wine glass—deliberate. Her focus scattered. And when he leaned in to deliver his line about trust, his breath ghosted across the line of her neck: “That dress is going to be a problem for both of us.”

“It was wardrobe.” She blushed. “I didn’t pick it.”