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One hundred and fifty two
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2025-05-18 20:03:40
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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
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty one
~Fallon~The alarm pierced through the room at exactly 6:30 a.m., merciless and cruel, like it knew I was no longer waking up in a beachfront villa.Gone were the lazy mornings, Reid’s hand resting low on my waist, sunlight warming our tangled sheets, the sound of waves lulling us into another hour of blissful stillness. No calls. No schedules. Just skin, laughter, and the quiet hum of something that didn’t feel so fake anymore.Now I was staring at a color-coded Google calendar that looked like a digital scream.Emails. Campaigns. Brand deadlines. Video edits. Live launches.I pulled on my silk robe and padded into the kitchen, where the sleek, quiet coldness of our L.A. mansion greeted me. The fridge glowed as I opened it and grabbed the one thing I didn’t want — green juice. I stared at it. Then drank it anyway.Across the house, I heard Reid’s voice cut through the early quiet — low, commanding, all clipped business.I paused in the kitchen doorway, eyes on the marble, ears tuned
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and fifty
~Fallon~I always thought returning from paradise would feel like waking up from a dream you didn’t want to end.But this?This felt like floating.Maybe it was the silk still lingering on my skin, or the sun that hadn’t quite faded from my body. Maybe it was the taste of last night still on my lips. Or maybe it was just him.Because Reid Callahan was stretched out in the seat beside me like sin made flesh — crisp white button-down undone at the collar, dark slacks hugging his legs, one ankle crossed over the other as if he didn’t just ruin me twice in twenty-four hours.His hand was warm on my thigh.Casual.Confident.Completely claiming.We were thirty minutes into the flight, somewhere over the Pacific, and I’d already forgotten what gravity felt like.I shifted in my seat, and Reid’s thumb brushed a circle against my skin. Barely there, but enough to make me exhale slowly.He noticed.Of course he did.His lips curved slightly, that barely-there smirk I’d grown to recognize as da
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract One hundred and forty nine
~Fallon~I wasn’t planning to post it.Honestly, I hadn’t even planned to take the photo. But then I woke up before Reid — sunlight pouring in soft and slow through the terrace doors, the sea breeze curling through the linen curtains — and there he was beside me.Dead asleep. On his stomach. Hair a complete mess. Arm flung across my waist like his body already knew I belonged there, even if his brain hadn’t caught up yet.It was unfair how good he looked like that.The sheet was low on his hips, just barely preserving modesty, and I could see the golden light brushing across the expanse of his back, his shoulder blades, the faint tan line near his waist.He looked… real.Not the CEO. Not the cold strategist. Not the man who kept the world at arm’s length.Just mine.And for reasons I didn’t fully understand, I reached for my phone and snapped a photo.I took it quickly. Quietly. Just a single frame. No adjusting. No filter. Just the way it was.I stared at it for a long moment after.
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