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One day, Evan Robinson, a top actor, wore my face during an interview.

The host asked, "Kristine, what's your ideal type like?"

Evan replied, "Ideally, he's six feet tall, a double award-winning actor, born in July, with a three-syllable name."

I thought to myself, "Why not just shout out your ID number while you're at it?"

1

At the filming set, I wore Evan's face and nervously flipped through the script.

"Relax, don't stress," Evan's agent Jack Walton whispered, trying to comfort me.

Ever since Evan and I swapped souls, we hadn't found a way to fix it.

Jack couldn't hold off the director's pressure any longer.

So, he dragged me, trapped in Evan's body, to the set.

No way I was not nervous.

Evan was this year's newly crowned double award-winning actor.

I was just a small-time actress starting to gain some recognition.

Sure, I aimed for strong performances, but compared to Evan, I was miles behind in box office numbers.

"Three, two, one, action," the director called.

I snapped into character instantly.

In this movie, Evan played a martial hero plotting to assassinate a corrupt emperor for justice.

The emperor was played by Jackson Morgan, the hottest heartthrob of the month.

"You're a smart man. Join me now, and it's not too late," Jackson said, delivering his lines. "Drop your sword, and I'll grant you riches and a high rank. We'll rule the world together."

I followed the script, roaring back, "Shut it. Your end is near, so stop dreaming."

I strode toward the emperor and pressed the sword against his neck.

"Hand over the decree," I demanded.

The emperor trembled on his throne, his eyes brimming with terrified tears.

I had to admit, Jackson earned his heartthrob title.

That pitiful, teary-eyed look nearly threw me off as a fan.

"Cut," the director shouted, halting the crew.

"Evan, something's off with your expression," the director said, frowning.

I nodded, ready for feedback.

"Your look just now... it's hard to pin down what's wrong," he muttered, reviewing the footage.

"That's it. The expression's off. You two are enemies, not lovers. Why are you giving him that dazzled look?"

His words sparked a ripple of suggestive glances between me and Jackson from the crew.

I cringed so hard I could've dug a hole in the floor.

It wasn't entirely my fault.

Ever since marrying Evan, the jealous type, I hadn't dared watch handsome guys' videos.

This rare chance to work with my idol made my heart race a bit.

But I hadn't expected the director to catch my fleeting distraction.

"Adjust and let's go again," the director said.

"Action."

I dove back into the role, forcing myself to ignore Jackson's striking features.

I silently repeated a calming mantra in my head.

My skills kicked in.

After adjusting, the rest of the shoot went smoothly.

The director even came over to praise me.

"One last scene tomorrow. Keep it up," he said.

I patted my chest confidently. "Don't worry, Director. I'll nail it," I promised.

Tomorrow's scene involved Evan's character disguising as a woman to infiltrate a banquet.

While the emperor was distracted by beauty, he'd strike the fatal blow.

I chuckled to myself.

I might struggle with other roles, but playing a woman? That I could handle.

2

I returned to the hotel that night and video-called Evan.

"Babe, I miss you so much," came my own voice, dripping with sweetness from the phone. "I looked in the mirror 1, 528 times today just to see you."

I shuddered.

Was that how I sounded when I got sappy?

"Why's your screen dark?" I asked. "Why not turn on the camera?"

I glanced at the phone, seeing only my side of the call.

After a brief silence, my own voice sighed. "Flirting with my own face feels... kind of gross."

Fair enough. Same here.

I casually asked, "How'd work go today? Those bitches didn't give you trouble, did they?"

Evan, wearing my face, had gone to guest-star on a live reality show.

Several female celebrities joined him on the show, and some had given me attitude before.

I advised, "If they say anything nasty, just hold back for now. We're bigger than that. No need to stoop to their level."

Evan hesitated on the phone, mumbling without a clear answer.

His tone screamed trouble. Big trouble.

I grabbed my tablet and pulled up the show's replay.

"Kristine's eye makeup looks amazing. I'm so clumsy I can barely draw a straight eyeliner," Alexandra Wallace said in the video, joking with the host.

The camera zoomed in on her carefully subtle makeup.

Then it panned to my face.

Alexandra had more fans than I did. The live comments exploded with praise for her and shade at me.

"My Alexandra is just naturally gorgeous, love her."

"Some people can't compare. Alexandra looks a hundred times better without makeup."

"I'm neutral, but Kristine's pretty. Her vibe and makeup suit her."

"Is the last commenter blind? Kristine's face screams plastic surgery."

The live show displayed comments in real time for the guests to see.

Evan was known for being fiercely protective.

He wouldn't let those comments slide.

As I expected, he didn't disappoint.

"Hand tremors are called physiological tremors," he said. "Common causes include brain inflammation, arteriosclerosis, or head trauma. Alexandra, no matter how busy work gets, take care of your health."

He delivered the lines with my face, radiating sincere concern.

Only a top actor could roast someone with such heartfelt flair.

His words set the comments on fire.

"I'm laughing to death."

"Kristine's savage."

"Brain inflammation? Genius. Noted."

Alexandra's fans fought back, claws out in the comments.

"What's that supposed to mean? Saying our Alexandra's brain is sick?"

"Kristine, if you can't talk properly, just shut up. Who needs your concern?"

But either Evan's expression was too genuine, or I was just that likable, because neutral viewers leaned my way.

"Honestly, Kristine sounded serious. Didn't seem like she was shading anyone."

"Med student here. Kristine's spot-on. Alexandra might want to get that checked."

The comments spiraled out of control.

I could already predict today's trending topics.

I opened Twitter and nearly fainted.

Top trend was Kristine.

Second trend was Alexandra brain inflammation.

Screw me.

3

This kind of attention was the last thing I wanted.

"Babe, can we maybe, just maybe, tone it down next time?" I asked, collapsing onto the bed with a wry smile.

"I was already holding back," Evan replied. "Good thing she didn't say anything too bad, or I'd have really let her have it."

"No, please don't," I said, bolting upright. "Let's be the bigger person. Forgive and forget. Take a step back for peace."

Evan brushed it off, clearly not taking me seriously.

No. At this rate, my reputation would crash in three days.

After hanging up, I rushed next door to strategize with my agent.

As soon as I opened the door, a sing-song voice hit me.

"Evan,"

The girl chirped, her voice dripping with charm.

I looked down and saw the female lead herself.

Pamela Fuller had appeared at my door without warning.

I nearly bumped into her.

"Evan, you worked hard today," she said. "I made some snacks myself. I hope you'll take them."

She held out a fancy lunchbox.

From my angle, I caught a glimpse of her low-cut top under her jacket.

I held back a curse.

Wasn't she freezing?

It was February, and she was out in just a top and a jacket?

Was Evan's charm melting her, or was his glow keeping her warm?

I stared at this woman blatantly flirting with my husband in front of me.

Sure, she didn't know the truth, but that didn't make it okay.

I made a snap decision and pulled a rejection.

I crossed my arms, nudged her aside with my elbow, and walked out.

"Sorry, I've got high blood sugar. Can't eat snacks," I said.