Todos los capítulos de Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract: Capítulo 201 - Capítulo 210

~Fallon~The night stretched long, each minute blending into the next, and I couldn’t shake the weight of Reid’s voice. It had cut through me like a blade, sharp and unforgiving, but there was something softer in it this time. Something that reminded me of the man I once thought I could have everything with.I stayed up late, sitting on the couch, staring out at the dark horizon until the weight of exhaustion finally dragged me to bed. It was hard to sleep with thoughts of him in my head, but eventually, I drifted off.When I woke the next morning, the air was cooler, the ocean’s sound still rolling in its eternal rhythm. I hadn’t made any decisions, hadn’t even wanted to, but the text was still in my drafts, sitting there, waiting.The villa was quiet—eerily so. The stillness felt almost artificial, like the house was holding its breath with me. I moved slowly, making coffee I didn’t drink and toast I didn’t eat. The mug sat untouched on the table as I wandered the rooms like a ghost

~Fallon~The wheels hit the runway with a thud that shook through my ribs. I didn’t flinch, but it was enough to jolt me out of my spiral. I’d been staring out the window for what felt like an hour, watching the clouds unravel into city lights and waiting for the nerves in my chest to settle.They didn’t.LAX was its usual blur—bright, impatient, full of people rushing toward things that mattered to them. I moved through it quietly, like a ghost. Cap low. Glasses on. Hoodie zipped up even though the air was warm. It wasn’t about staying comfortable. It was about staying unseen.By the time I stepped out of the terminal, dragging my suitcase behind me, a black car was already waiting at the curb. Of course it was.Sleek. Polished. The kind of vehicle that screamed Reid Callahan even when he wasn’t in it.The driver stepped out, tall and composed in a pressed black suit.“Mrs.—” He caught himself mid-word. “Ms. Prescott-Callahan?”I gave a tight nod.He took my bag without another quest

~Reid~The whiskey burned, but not enough to quiet the noise in my head.This place used to feel like control—mahogany, cigar smoke, and silence polished with wealth. The private club was where power came to unwind. Where CEOs played chess with lives, and men like me didn’t have to pretend they were happy. We just had to keep our ties straight and our sins quiet.But tonight, the air felt off. Too heavy. The kind of heavy that comes when people are pretending not to stare.Every eye in the room had flicked toward me at least once. Some lingered. Some didn’t bother to hide it.I didn’t care. Or maybe I just told myself that.Fallon’s interview had aired four nights ago. No bombshells. No accusations. Just her, looking steady and self-contained, not a tear in sight. The ring gone. The silence deafening.She hadn’t dragged my name through the mud.She hadn’t needed to.The world did it for her.I sipped the drink slowly, let it sit on my tongue. I’d sat in this corner more times than I c

~Reid~The whiskey burned.Not the kind of slow, warm sting that eased the edge off a bad day — this was the bitter kind. The kind that clung to your tongue and crawled down your throat like regret. The kind you drank alone, even when you weren’t alone.Lila sat across from me at the bar in the private lounge, legs crossed, lips painted crimson, eyes far too familiar.“You’ve had enough,” she said, reaching for my glass.I pulled it back before she could take it.“I’ll decide when I’ve had enough.”She didn’t flinch. She never did. That was one of the things about Lila — she had always known how to sit still while storms raged.And right now, I was a storm.Fallon’s message had been short — polite, distant. She was back to L.A. but didn’t want to see me yet. No anger. No hope. Just information. Like I was a stranger she owed courtesy, not a husband she once promised everything to. She hadn’t reached out and I was still unable to get to her. I couldn’t blame her.I’d failed her when i

~Fallon~I posted the first picture without overthinking it.No caption. Just a shot of me sitting at a sun-drenched café in Silver Lake — hair twisted up messily, oversized sunglasses pushed to the top of my head, one hand curled around a tall glass of iced coffee. The sun was cutting through the glass wall behind me, hitting just enough to cast a glow across my shoulder. My expression was soft. Bare. Unbothered.It wasn’t posed. I hadn’t filtered it.But it felt like a beginning.I dropped my phone face down on the table and exhaled slowly. Deeply. Fully.Let it go.Let them say what they want.The barista, maybe nineteen with bleached hair and chipped nail polish, brought over a slice of banana bread and slid it onto my table. “On the house,” she said with a shy grin. “My girlfriend follows you. She thinks you’re a badass.”I blinked, surprised. “Thank you.”“She wanted me to tell you she cried reading your last post. You know, the one about losing yourself?”I hadn’t realized peop