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Two hundred and thirty
Last Updated:
2025-06-12 15:28:53
Ese GwedeYes, I know it seems like Reid and Fallon are going round in circles. But stay with me guys. We’re going somewhere🌝
Latest chapter
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract Two hundred and forty four
~Fallon~The sun is already low when I step out onto the balcony.It casts everything in that late-afternoon glow I wish I could bottle—rich, golden light that slides over the ocean like melted honey, catching the waves in motion and kissing the edges of the horizon. The breeze is softer than usual, less playful. Like even the wind knows we’re leaving soon.I press my hands to the warm stone railing, letting the heat of the day soak into my skin one last time. I inhale slowly, drawing in the salt, the hibiscus blooming just below, and the faint trace of sunscreen still clinging to my collarbone.There’s something sacred about this moment.Not loud. Not dramatic.Just still.Mia joins me after a few minutes, a glass of white wine in her hand, her curls swept up in a loose bun that’s already started to unravel.She leans beside me without speaking.And for a long time, we just… exist. Together. Watching the sky bleed its colors into the sea, the sounds of the resort growing quieter as d
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract Two hundred and forty three
~Reid~The plane touched down just after midnight.LAX looked the same as always—too bright, too loud, too full of people who moved like they were being chased. But everything felt different. I moved slower. Carried the weight of something I couldn’t check at the curb. Something I’d left behind, or maybe never held properly to begin with.I walked through the terminal like I was sleepwalking. Like I could still see the door I never got to knock on. Like I could still feel the warmth of tulips in my hands—ones she never saw.She’d left that morning.I arrived that afternoon.I missed her by less than six hours.It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.It mattered because in some other version of our story, I would’ve gotten there earlier. I would’ve caught her at the elevator or the lobby or the sidewalk. I would’ve said something real, maybe even right. And maybe—maybe—she would’ve looked at me the way she used to.But I was too late.Not by days. Not by months.By minutes.And that wa
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract Two hundred and forty two
~Fallon~The sun woke me like a secret.It spilled through the wide glass doors of our suite in long, lazy streaks—soft gold brushing over the marble floor, slipping across the linens, warming my bare legs as I stirred beneath the sheets. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was.Then I heard Mia’s soft, not-so-cute snoring from the other bed and remembered.Paradise.I blinked into the light, stretched slowly, and smiled.There was no schedule today. No meetings, no publicists, no press calls. No one expecting me to perform grief or resilience or grace. Just waves crashing like applause against the rocks outside, and birds calling overhead like they knew we were free.I rolled out of bed and stepped onto the cool tile floor. My muscles were sore in the best way—from dancing barefoot on the balcony, from laughing too hard, from carrying less than I did the day before.I grabbed my bikini and an oversized white shirt from my suitcase. Sun-kissed skin. Bare feet. Loose curls. I looked li
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract Two hundred and forty one
~Fallon~I hadn’t realized how heavy silence could become—how deeply it could settle into your bones—until I heard Mia’s voice again.“Fallon!”Her voice cut through the warm breeze and the hum of rolling luggage like sunlight through storm clouds. I looked up and saw her weaving through the small terminal, her braids catching the wind, oversized sunglasses perched on her head, arms wide open, smile wide enough to swallow the sky.My chest stuttered.I let go of my suitcase handle and walked faster, then faster still until I met her halfway and she crashed into me with a hug that knocked the air from my lungs—and something deeper from my soul.“You smell like vacation,” I mumbled into her shoulder.She laughed, squeezing me tighter. “You smell like someone who forgot she deserved one.”We stood there, holding each other like it had been years instead of just months. And maybe in some ways, it had. Months that had aged me. Reshaped me. Quietly rewired every instinct I used to trust.Wh
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract Two hundred and forty
~Reid~The airport was a blur of movement and muffled voices—families reuniting, couples navigating baggage, businessmen with wireless earbuds talking into the air. I kept my head down, shoulder to the wind, my leather duffel strapped across my back like a shield.It wasn’t LAX-level chaos, but it was busy enough to feel disorienting. Every second spent in that terminal felt wasted. She wasn’t here. She was somewhere, but not here.My hands were shaking by the time I made it through the sliding glass doors. Not from nerves, not exactly. From adrenaline. From the weight of almostness. From the hope I’d shoved down too many times, now clawing its way back up.My phone buzzed.The driver I’d arranged was already waiting. Black SUV. Tinted windows. Discreet, just like Fallon used to prefer when we still made joint appearances—when I still had the right to stand beside her and call her mine.The driver stood beside the vehicle as I approached. Older man. Polished. Professional. A water bot
Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract Two hundred and thirty nine
~Fallon~I stretched out on the chaise lounge, the phone cradled between my shoulder and ear as the scent of coffee wrapped around the quiet morning. The air was cool, even with the Georgia sun beginning to spill through the gauzy curtains, striping the hardwood floor with gold. A breeze slipped in through the cracked window, fluttering the hem of my robe.My suitcase sat half-packed by the couch. Open, indecisive. Like it didn’t quite believe me yet.“You soft-launched him?” Mia gasped in my ear. “Fallon Prescott. You. Are. Unhinged.”I smiled, pressing the rim of my mug to my lips to hide it, even though she couldn’t see me. “It was just a photo, Mia.”“Girl,” she said, like I’d personally offended her, “a man’s hand on your thigh isn’t just a photo. It’s a declaration. You’ve sent the internet into cardiac arrest. Do you know how many TikToks are out there right now trying to identify him by the vein pattern on his wrist?”I let out a soft laugh. “You’re exaggerating.”“I’m not. So
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