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Fourteen
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2025-03-21 17:15:44
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Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and sixty
~Fallon~It started with the coffee.More specifically—the smell of it.One second I was in the kitchen, barefoot, hair still wet from the shower, reaching for my favorite mug. The next, the scent hit me, and something inside my stomach lurched hard enough to stop me cold.I stared down at the counter, confused, one hand gripping the edge of the marble as the nausea rolled in. It wasn’t subtle. It was immediate. Violent.I poured the coffee down the sink and tried to breathe through it.Maybe it was something I ate. Maybe it was just too early.But then it happened again.Twice.The second time, I was in the middle of a shoot—a dreamy, golden-hour campaign for a clean perfume line that was supposed to be soft and effortless. And it was. Until someone uncapped a jasmine blend and I had to excuse myself mid-shot, clutching my stomach and faking a migraine.I blamed it on stress.That was the easy answer. The safe one.Things with Reid had been… tense.There’d been no blow-up. No huge fi
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty nine
~Reid~The boardroom was silent, except for the rhythmic tap of my pen against the table.I wasn’t even aware I was doing it until I noticed three of the execs glance toward my hand. I stopped, flexed my fingers, then clasped them together. Still. Composed.I could fake control in my sleep.But today?Today, it was unraveling by the minute.I was surrounded by the top minds in my company. All polished, all focused, all staring at charts and projections like the future was something you could plan for with perfect accuracy. Everyone was saying all the right things—Q3 trends, expansion models, revenue forecasts.And I wasn’t hearing any of it.My eyes were on the numbers. My body in the room.But my mind?It was back in the living room, where Fallon stood in her robe, arms folded like she was bracing for a storm—and delivering one instead.You didn’t even text back.Make time.She’d said it so quietly. Like she wasn’t just tired—she was done.And I hadn’t said a goddamn thing in respons
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty eight
~Fallon~I didn’t even bother texting first.I just showed up at Mia’s door with a croissant in one hand and two iced lattes in the other.She opened the door in an oversized hoodie that said “Hot Mess in Progress,” one sock on, her mascara smeared like she’d either just woken up or made out with someone who didn’t know how to leave. Possibly both.“You bring peace offerings,” she said, snatching the croissant before I could speak.“I bring caffeine and carbs. Two of your love languages.”“You’ve grown,” she said around a mouthful of buttery pastry. “Come in. I was literally just thinking about you.”“Liar.”“Swear on my skincare routine.”That made me smile.Her apartment smelled like lavender and leftover Thai food, and I loved it. There were three open water bottles scattered across the coffee table, a blanket fort half-dismantled in the corner, and her cat, Miso, glaring at me like I’d disturbed his reign. It felt lived in. Real.We curled up on the couch, legs tangled, drinks swe
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty seven
~Fallon~I hadn’t seen my mom in weeks.Not since the anniversary trip. Not since the tabloids started dissecting every look, every smile, every inch of body language between Reid and me like it was national intel. Not since the last time I left her house with the familiar taste of guilt and inadequacy sitting heavy on my tongue.I told myself I’d been too busy. I let unread messages pile up. I ignored her brunch invitations, sidestepped the pointed “thinking of you” texts that always came with a side of scrutiny.But guilt always had good aim. And I was out of excuses.Now, standing in front of the Prescott townhouse in four-inch heels and an oversized blazer meant to hide the exhaustion in my bones, I inhaled once and knocked twice.The door opened before the second knock landed.“You’re late,” my mom said, tone warm but crisp. Like cashmere with a knife hidden inside it.“Traffic,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek before stepping inside.“You could have called.”“I did. I t
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty six
~Fallon~I woke before the sun.Not because I had somewhere to be.But because I couldn’t stand the idea of hearing his voice first. Of walking into the kitchen and seeing him there, like nothing had happened.So I didn’t wait.I moved quietly, deliberately.Showered with the lights off. Let the cold tiles ground me. Let the silence press into my skin like armor.When I stepped out, I didn’t towel off quickly. I took my time. Dried each limb like I was scrubbing away the version of myself that had once waited by the front door hoping he’d show up.No more of that.Not today.My makeup was flawless by 6:30 a.m.Bronzer, blush, lashes curled into perfection. Bold lipstick, sharp brows. A soft matte finish to disguise the dull ache under my eyes.It was ridiculous, really. What was I thinking doing something like this so early into the day?I looked like a woman with a calendar full of power meetings, brunch reservations, and editorial shoots.Not like someone who’d spent the night alone
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty five
~Reid~I stood in the middle of the living room long after she was gone.The silence pressed in like a vice, slow and deliberate, hollowing out everything she left behind. The weight of her words still echoed in the walls, lingering in the air like smoke after a fire.I didn’t move.Didn’t chase her.Didn’t say what I should’ve said.Because the second I opened my mouth, I knew I’d say too much.And once those words were out, there’d be no turning back.I sat down on the couch with a heaviness that felt unfamiliar — not tiredness, not even guilt, really. It was something deeper. Something dangerously close to grief. My elbows rested on my knees, fingers laced tight like if I gripped hard enough, I could hold the pieces of myself together.The scent of her was everywhere — on the cushions, on my skin, in the spaces she’d left behind.That damn perfume.Vanilla and spice and something clean I could never name.Something I only ever associated with her.The house didn’t feel like a house
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty four
~Fallon~The house was too quiet.That kind of thick, empty quiet that didn’t feel peaceful — just abandoned. The emptiness was somewhat suffocating, so was the silence.Even the hum of the AC sounded louder than usual. The way it echoed off the high ceilings made it worse somehow. Like the walls were reminding me just how big this place was when you were in it alone.I was still in the silk robe I’d worn after coming home from the dinner, makeup smudged just slightly beneath my eyes. Not from crying. Not exactly. Just from the kind of pressure that presses behind your eyes when you’ve been swallowing emotion for too long.I hadn’t touched the dinner Maria reheated and left on the stove. The wine I poured sat half-full on the table, the red gone dull. I’d tried reading, scrolling, walking the halls — anything to distract myself.None of it worked.Because what I wanted — what I needed — was him. I needed him more than anything at this very moment. And he wasn’t here.Not at the dinne
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty three
~Fallon~I knew he wasn’t coming the moment I saw his name light up my phone.Not a call.Just a message.Reid: Something’s come up. I can’t make the dinner tonight. I’m sorry.I stared at the screen like the words might rearrange themselves if I looked long enough.They didn’t.He was sorry. Again.But apologies start to lose their sharpness when you hear them too often — like a blade dulled from overuse.And this one?This one felt particularly blunt.I didn’t text back.Not because I didn’t want to.Because I didn’t trust what I might say.⸻The Prescott estate was already in full swing by the time I arrived — valet cars lined the long driveway, warm golden light pouring from the tall glass windows, and the unmistakable hum of too many egos in one space bouncing off polished marble floors.It was the usual crowd: family, politicians, legacy families, art collectors who didn’t know a thing about art. And tonight, the guest list was bloated with people I’d never met but was expected
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty two
~Fallon~It started small.A missed dinner. A text left on read. A lingering silence between two rooms that used to feel connected.Nothing explosive.Just… absence.The kind that doesn’t announce itself with a bang, but creeps in quietly. Bit by bit. Like water beneath a door.The first night, I waited. Pushed dinner thirty minutes. Then an hour. Told myself it was fine — he was busy. I reheated the food. I ate alone.By the third night, Maria stopped asking if I wanted her to plate his.“He said he’ll be late,” she told me gently. “He didn’t say how late.”I nodded, jaw clenched, and opened my laptop like I was fine.But I wasn’t.Not really.Because our anniversary trip had cracked something open. And now? Every hour apart felt like we were building walls around that vulnerable place we’d barely begun to explore.He was busy.I was busy.But something in me kept whispering: this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.⸻ReidI kept telling myself I’d call her after the next meeting.After t
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