Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 231 - チャプター 240

~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~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

~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~I should have known better.I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering above the “delete” icon on my most recent Instagram post. The one where I’d casually, recklessly, included the edge of Dean’s arm in the last slide.It was stupid.It was impulsive.But it was mine.For a moment, I thought had made a huge mistake. It felt like I had announced my budding relationship to the rest of the world too soon. Why couldn't I just wait a little longer? The post had only been up for four hours, and already the comments were spiraling. People noticed—of course they did. I could’ve posted a photo of a cloud and someone would still zoom in to find evidence of my relationship status. But this… this wasn’t a stretch. His arm was there. The outline of his body. The subtle suggestion that I was no longer entirely alone.I didn’t mean to start a war. But I had.The internet had gone feral. But what else was new?The comments poured in their usual torrents. I wonder why I never got used to it.

~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