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Two hundred and eighteen

Author: Ese Gwede
last update Last Updated: 2025-06-10 23:33:23

~Fallon~

There was something strangely sacred about being invisible.

In Los Angeles, invisibility was a luxury you couldn’t afford—not when your face was plastered across digital billboards, when your smile could be dissected for signs of trouble, when strangers thought your heartbreak was public property. But here, in this quiet coastal city with its cracked sidewalks and crooked bookstore signs, I was just another woman wearing sunglasses and ordering oat milk lattes.

No one here knew me as Fallon Prescott-Callahan.

And for the first time in years, I wasn’t trying to be her either.

The apartment was a second-floor walk-up tucked between a florist and a bakery that opened at six every morning. The space itself was small—maybe 800 square feet—but it had soul. The kind of charm that came from chipped cabinets and crooked light switches. The kind of place where you could leave the dishes in the sink and not feel like the walls were judging you.

It was mine.

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  • Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract   Two hundred and fifty six

    ~Fallon~I didn’t make it far.Just five steps into the hallway before I heard the sound of the door open behind me—fast, no hesitation. No fear. Just the kind of urgency that only happens when someone’s made a decision they can’t walk back.“Fallon.”He said my name like it was oxygen. Like he hadn’t been able to breathe without it. And God help me—I stopped.I should’ve kept walking.I should’ve taken the elevator, stepped outside, and left this hotel with some shred of peace still intact. But my body had a memory of him. And that memory kept me still. It kept me there, pulse racing, feet planted, heart begging for one more second to figure out what the hell I was doing.The hallway was empty except for us. Just me, standing with my back to him and a thousand ghosts between us.Then I felt him behind me.Close enough that the air changed. Charged with tension. History. Heat.“I know you said not to,” Reid said, voice soft but shaking with something close to desperation, “but I need

  • Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract   Two hundred and fifty five

    ~Fallon~I didn’t sleep the night before.Not because of the letter, exactly. Not even because of Reid. It was what the letter unlocked—memories I’d sealed in glass and shelved, thinking they were safe up there, out of reach. But they weren’t. All it took was one page in his handwriting to pull everything crashing down.By sunrise, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall like it might give me instructions. My hands were shaking. My heart had been racing for hours.I didn’t make a plan.I just moved.I dressed in a rush—pulled on jeans and the first hoodie I grabbed, barely brushed my hair. No perfume. No makeup. No mask. I didn’t want to be beautiful today. I wanted to be real. I wanted him to see the cost of what he did to me written in my skin, in my eyes.The city was still quiet when the car pulled up. Pale light spread like fog across the street, slow and unsure. It mirrored how I felt.The lobby was chilled and silent when I walked in. A grand piano sat in the c

  • Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract   Two hundred and fifty four

    ~Fallon~I couldn’t sleep.Not even after the city went still, after the lights outside dimmed into soft amber halos on the sidewalk, after I changed my sheets in a desperate attempt to reset the energy of the night.The letter still sat in my drawer. But it wasn’t just a letter anymore.It was a wound—one I hadn’t decided whether to reopen or let scar.Reid had always known how to use silence like a weapon. But this letter? It wasn’t silence. It was a confession. A reckoning.And it was undoing me.At 2:08 a.m., I gave up pretending I was fine and padded barefoot into the kitchen, wrapping myself in a sweater that still smelled faintly like sea salt and sunscreen from the island. I made tea I wouldn’t drink. Lit a candle I didn’t need. And sat on the floor with my phone clutched in both hands.There was only one person who could handle this version of me—raw, indecisive, on the verge of breaking.I called Mia.She answered on the second ring, voice thick with sleep. “Fals? Everything

  • Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract   Two hundred and fifty three

    ~Fallon~The envelope has lived in the same spot on my kitchen counter for three days. Unmoving. Unopened. Quietly patient in a way that feels almost cruel.Every time I walk past it, my breath catches in my throat—like it’s radiating heat. Like it knows what’s inside it could split me open in a way I’ve worked so hard to avoid.I’ve swept around it. Set mugs beside it. Almost tossed it once, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t throw away something from Reid without knowing what it held.That, maybe, is the clearest proof I’m not over him. Not the photos I haven’t deleted. Not the way my chest tightens every time I hear his name. It’s this—my complete inability to ignore him, even in paper form.I’ve come back from the island. I’ve come back to Dean. To my job. My routine. My filtered posts and curated playlists and long walks around the city trying to feel rooted again.But this letter?This letter makes everything inside me go still.⸻Tonight, I sit in silence on the kitchen stool, a

  • Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract   Two hundred and fifty two

    ~Reid~I don’t know what’s worse—waiting in silence, or knowing I might’ve already lost her.The letter’s been delivered. I saw the confirmation email from the concierge myself. The flowers too. Peach garden roses, same as always. I’d asked the florist to make it feel like sunlight in a vase—soft, specific, unassuming.I didn’t want it to scream.Just to whisper:I remember you.I still see you.You still matter.And maybe I don’t get to say that anymore.But I did.Quietly. Sincerely.It’s been two days now.Two long, hollow, mind-numbing days of nothing.Not a text.Not a call.Not even a single accidental like or view on my stories.The kind of silence that doesn’t just echo—it drills through bone.⸻I sit at the edge of the bed in this expensive, soulless hotel suite, elbows on my knees, head hanging between my shoulders. My watch ticks loud in the quiet. I’ve changed time zones four times in the past three weeks, and not once have I stopped being tired.I haven’t unpacked. I have

  • Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract   Two hundred and fifty one

    ~Fallon~I didn’t tell Dean.Not when he texted to say he missed me already after our last quiet dinner. Not when he held my hand on our morning walk through the park. Not even when he leaned in at the corner café and kissed me with a kind of ease that should’ve felt like peace.I didn’t tell Mia either.She would’ve known what questions to ask. The right ones. The hard ones. The ones I wasn’t ready to answer.I kept it to myself. All of it.The knock.The breathless moment at the door.The peach-colored roses now sitting silently in the corner of my apartment—tucked behind the blinds, still upright in a glass vase, still impossibly fresh like they refused to wilt before I made a decision.And the letter.Folded once. Unopened. Still sealed. Still heavy with everything I refused to read.⸻It had arrived the morning after his visit. Slipped under my door with surgical quiet. No knock this time. No explanation. Just his handwriting, unmistakable—slanted and sharp, the kind he used when

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