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Two hundred and twenty four

Author: Ese Gwede
last update Last Updated: 2025-06-11 13:55:30

~Fallon~

The restaurant glowed like a postcard—candlelight flickering against glass, soft jazz drifting in from the speakers, waiters gliding between tables like they were part of a carefully rehearsed play. Outside, the world was cool and quiet, the streets dotted with small galleries and old bookstores that always smelled like paper and possibility. This city had a slower pulse than L.A., and I’d come here for exactly that.

A gentler pace. A fresh start.

Dean sat across from me, smiling at something the waiter said as he poured the wine. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, a small ink mark near his wrist where his pen must’ve leaked earlier. His hair was a little wind-tousled, and there was nothing manufactured about the way he looked at me—no agenda, no calculation. Just curiosity. Kindness.

It should’ve been simple.

He was good. Solid. Smart, thoughtful, patient in ways I hadn’t realized I needed until now. He was the kind of man you could build a life with. Or at least try
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  • Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract   Two hundred and thirty five

    ~Reid~There she was.Right there on my screen. Smiling.Not just a smile for the camera. Not the curated, careful kind we all learn to wear in front of a lens. No, this was different. It was quieter. Softer. A smile that looked like it came from somewhere deeper—like it had been earned.Fallon.She was standing near the ocean, sunlight behind her, a soft breeze lifting her hair. The caption said nothing. Just a single period. Like she wasn’t interested in explaining herself to anyone anymore.And maybe she wasn’t.I sat on the edge of my bed, phone in one hand, scotch in the other, completely useless in the face of her image. My thumb hovered over the screen, not quite scrolling, not quite swiping away.It had been months since she left.Weeks since I last heard her voice.Days since I last called—unanswered, of course.But this?Seeing her this way?It was worse than silence.Because it meant she was doing okay.Without me.Because she looked free.Another post. This one a carousel.

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

    ~Fallon~It started with a missed call from my father.Then another.Then a message: “We saw your posts. Call us.”Just five words. No punctuation, no warmth. Just weight. The kind only family knows how to wield.I stared at the text for what felt like an hour, thumb hovering, heart unsettled. I hadn’t spoken to either of my parents since the separation went public. No calls. No emails. Not even a holiday text. Just the quiet judgment I could still feel from states away.They had reached out when I left Reid.They also reached out when the press ripped me apart.But they hadn’t exactly reached out when I moved out alone, quietly, into a life they never approved of to begin with even after I settled in. It had been months and I was finally starting to get my groove back l.Why now? The answer was obvious. Because I was visible again.I’d posted two times. Two. And that was all it took for them to remember I existed. Not as a daughter. As a name.As a headline.Still, a part of me—the

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

    ~Fallon~The first time I tapped open the Instagram app again, my fingers hovered over the screen for a full minute before I posted anything.It wasn’t fear.Not exactly.It was more like resistance. That low hum beneath the surface, the kind that settles in your bones when you’ve been burned before. A warning that once you open the door, you don’t get to close it quietly. Not when the world is watching.But I was tired of hiding.I was tired of curating silence.I stared at my profile photo—the same one from a year ago. Glossy. Professional. Edited within an inch of its life. Fallon Callahan, the brand. Not Fallon Prescott, the woman still trying to trust her reflection in the mirror.I changed it.Uploaded a candid photo Mia had taken during our last brunch. I wasn’t posing. I wasn’t styled. I was just… there. Laughing, sunlight tangled in my hair, a half-eaten croissant on the plate in front of me. My smile was small but real.No caption.Just that.A soft breath left my lungs as I

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

    ~Reid~The phone sat on the edge of the table, screen dark, quiet, and cruel.I’d told myself I was done calling her.That was the rule. The only rule left in a life that used to have so many.After the last message I left—the one she never returned—I promised I’d leave her alone. Let her breathe. Let her forget.She deserved that.But the problem is… forgetting her never came easy to me.And tonight, the silence got too loud.The house was cavernous, and no amount of dimmed lights or expensive scotch could soften the echo of her absence. Every hallway still knew her name. Every room still remembered the pitch of her laugh. The places where she used to leave her shoes, her tea mug, the scarf that always slipped off the back of the dining chair—it all haunted me.Lila had stopped by earlier. Something about needing a signature. She stayed longer than necessary, hovering in the doorway of my office, watching me too closely. I let her talk. I let her touch my arm. I let her linger, but I

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

    ~Fallon~I didn’t mean to say yes.When Dean asked if I wanted to come over again, I should’ve hesitated. Should’ve remembered the weight of the last few years—how hard it had been to breathe, to trust, to feel like I was more than someone’s broken promise.But the truth?I was tired of living in the ruins of Reid Callahan.So I said yes.Dean’s place was on the top floor of a walk-up, tucked between a florist and a late-night bakery. The kind of apartment you don’t find in LA anymore—wooden floors that creaked when you moved, books stacked everywhere, a crooked lamp in the corner that gave off this soft, amber glow like something out of a dream.It smelled like cinnamon and takeout and something else—something like safety.He handed me a glass of red wine and nodded toward the couch. “I got the couch cushions fluffed for you. Can’t have you thinking I don’t know how to host.”I laughed, easing down beside him. “The bar is very low, Dean.”“Oh, I plan to just barely clear it.”He disa

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

    ~Reid~ The scotch burned going down. So did the second. And the third. I wasn’t counting anymore. That would’ve meant I still cared about control. The mansion was silent, too silent. No music humming from the kitchen. No Fallon humming off-key in the bath. Just the kind of silence that crawled under your skin and hollowed you out from the inside. It was nearing two in the morning. I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t worked. I hadn’t moved from this goddamn spot in hours. I was parked on the floor in my study like some broken thing, my back against the couch, my tie still hanging loose around my neck like a noose I hadn’t bothered tightening. The photo on my phone screen wouldn’t change no matter how many times I blinked. It was her—Fallon. One year ago. Caught mid-laugh, sitting barefoot on the balcony, wearing one of my hoodies like she owned the world. That woman had once looked at me like I hung the moon. Now she wouldn’t even return my calls. I didn’t blame her. I’d been quiet when I

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