Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 191 - チャプター 200

~Fallon~The grand dining room of the Callahan estate felt like a battleground.The room was set with crisp white tablecloths, the polished wood of the chairs gleaming in the dim lighting. A few staff members lingered at the edges, observing, as if unsure whether they should interfere with what was to come. There was something suffocating in the air, thick with history, secrets, and the kind of tension that could split even the strongest bonds.I couldn’t believe I was back here. After everything that had happened, after the interviews, the betrayal, and the silence, here I was.Back at the Callahan estate.The sight of his father upturned my stomach, I hated my father inlaw more than anything now. The pitiful and apologetic look in the eyes of Evelyn, Reid’s mother, did nothing to ease the hate boiling in the pit of my stomach. And across from me, seated at the head of the table as usual, was Reid. His jaw was tight, his fingers steepled in front of him, eyes scanning over the paper

~Fallon~The morning light crept in through sheer curtains I hadn’t bothered to close.I hadn’t meant to sleep in the guest room again. I kept telling myself it was temporary—just a buffer space while I figured things out. But the bed in the master was too big, too cold. Too full of memory.And I hadn’t meant to stay up until 3 a.m. either, staring at the same ceiling, replaying every second of the family meeting like I could rewrite it in my head. Rewrite the moment Reid saw me. The moment I saw him.The moment he didn’t say a word.I rolled out of bed slowly, tugging my robe tighter around me as I padded toward the kitchen. The floors chilled my bare feet. Everything in the house felt just a little too still, like it was waiting for me to claim it—but I hadn’t. Notyet.No staff here. No fixed schedule. No eggs poached to perfection or a pressed green juice waiting at the counter.Just space.Solitude.I clicked on the kettle, the quiet hum filling the room like a second heartbeat. A

~Fallon~I didn’t pack much.Just a suitcase and a duffel, tossed together with zero coordination — swimsuits tangled with sweaters, books I probably wouldn’t read, chargers I’d inevitably forget to use. I didn’t even check the weather.I just needed to get out.Of the mansion. Of the headlines. Of the noise in my own head.The city felt too small lately. Like every streetlight and billboard and paparazzi lens was watching me — waiting for me to crack. Waiting for me to fall apart in public like some tragic ex-wife, even though the contract technically said I wasn’t even that.I didn’t bother telling Mia. She’d try to stop me, or worse — try to come with me. I couldn’t explain why I needed to be alone, not when I barely understood it myself.All I knew was that if I stayed, I’d start performing again.Smiling when I didn’t want to. Posting when I had nothing to say. Turning pain into something palatable. Safe. Sellable.And I was tired of being palatable.So I booked a flight. First-c

~Fallon~The sea breeze tasted like peace.Real peace. Not the kind you fake for the cameras. Not the kind you have to explain, spin, or survive.This was the kind that came with silence. With waking up to waves instead of push alerts. With breathing, fully, and not immediately choking on the weight of everything waiting for me back home.I didn’t even know how badly I needed to leave until I did.The villa was perched on a cliff above the Aegean, remote and sun-bleached, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and the kind of quiet that could swallow a person whole. The pool stretched toward the sea like a promise. The sun hit different out here—less angry, more forgiving.I’d booked it on a whim. Clicked “confirm” without thinking, packed a bag in under fifteen minutes, and left everything else—including my phone, my planner, my wedding ring—in a drawer in L.A.Not even Mia knew where I was.It was selfish. Irresponsible, maybe.But it was mine.And for the first time in a long time, I

~Reid~I didn’t sleep that night.I couldn’t.The second I hit send on the voice note, regret crept in like smoke under a locked door. Not because I didn’t mean it—but because I did.Every damn word.And now they were just out there, floating in her phone, in her hands—if she even opened it.I sat on the edge of my bed, phone in my palm, staring at the screen like it owed me something.It didn’t.No typing bubbles. No read receipts. No call back. No reply.Just silence.A silence that felt like punishment.A silence I probably deserved.⸻By 3 a.m., I was pacing.Back and forth across the length of the bedroom, bare feet dragging over the hardwood floors. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to fall apart. That I’d send the message, let it go, and move on if she didn’t answer.But I was a liar.Because she wasn’t just someone I missed.She was the someone.The axis I’d built my life around without even realizing it—until she was gone.I scrubbed a hand down my face and walked into the bathr