Semua Bab Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract: Bab 271 - Bab 280

~Fallon~The smell of coffee reached me before I even opened my bedroom door.Warm, rich, familiar.For one surreal second, I forgot.Forgot the press. The lawyers. The past.Forgot that my heart had been dragged over broken glass and left to pulse alone.I forgot because that smell meant something once.Comfort. Mornings in bed. His quiet voice saying, “Your turn to pour.”But then I opened the door.And there he was.Reid Callahan, barefoot in my kitchen. Like we hadn’t burned everything down.His shirt was wrinkled from sleep, sleeves casually rolled, his hair a soft mess that somehow made him look younger. He moved like he’d done this before—because he had. A hundred mornings just like this. Except none of them were like this.This one carried weight.History. Hesitation. Hope I didn’t ask for.He turned at the sound of the door and stilled when he saw me. For a beat, the world stilled too.“Good morning,” he said, voice hushed like it might scare the moment off.I swallowed. “Mor

~Reid~I stared at the message thread on my phone for the third time that morning.REID: Hey. Just wanted to check in. Hope you’re doing okay.Nothing. No response. No “seen.” Just digital silence thick enough to choke on.It wasn’t like her. Not since I came back.Not since she let me stay the night.Not since we’d hovered in that space between something broken and something trying to be whole again.Now it felt like the door had quietly closed.And I couldn’t tell if it was temporary… or final.I tossed the phone onto the bed like it had betrayed me. Like it held answers it refused to give.Fallon’s silence had weight.She wasn’t the kind of person to ignore someone out of pettiness.If she went quiet, it was because something in her had shut down.Maybe it was me.Probably it was me.I dragged my hand down my face and sat on the edge of the hotel bed. The sunlight had started to crawl across the carpet—soft and golden, like it was trying to pretend this city hadn’t gutted me.Savan

~Fallon~Mia showed up on a Thursday like she always did—without warning, without permission, and with a smug grin that said you’re welcome before I could even form a greeting.She held up two drinks. “Iced matcha for you, oat latte for me. I brought snacks too. And no, I’m not leaving tonight.”I leaned against the doorway in Reid’s hoodie and frowned. “Seriously?”She breezed inside. “Yes, seriously. You’ve ghosted me for weeks. Your stories are dry. Your texts are dry. Your life? Probably even drier. I came to bring water.”I shut the door and followed her in, dragging my feet like some reluctant sitcom character. “I’m fine.”“You’re not,” she said, tossing her duffel on the couch. “You’re on emotional autopilot. You needed a hard reset. That’s what I’m here for.”I stared at her, exhausted by the fact that she was, as usual, right.She motioned at my hoodie. “Also? You’re still wearing his clothes.”I looked down. Damn it.I tugged the sleeves over my hands. “I didn’t notice.”“Yo

~Fallon~The LA skyline looked different from above.Not bright or electric like the travel blogs promised—just muted, like someone had dialed the saturation down on a place I once called home. Maybe it was the tinted windows of Reid’s jet. Or maybe it was my brain, trying to protect itself from the inevitable crash landing of returning to a life I’d left behind.The descent was smooth, too smooth.Reid didn’t say a word the entire time. Not during the landing, not when the car picked us up, not even when I leaned my forehead against the glass window, watching the familiar blur of the city race past.But he watched me. Quietly. Constantly.Mia, of course, was her usual hurricane of comfort and sarcasm. She hummed to herself in the back seat, then leaned forward just as we turned onto the long private drive that snaked toward the mansion.“Okay. Breathe, bitch,” she said, not unkindly. “You’re not walking into the Hunger Games. It’s just a house. A stupidly large house. With better wat

~Fallon~I was curled up on the couch—knees tucked beneath me, blanket high around my chin, laptop abandoned beside me—when I heard the front door open.Not a knock. Not a doorbell. Just the familiar groan of well-oiled hinges and the sound of deliberate, confident footsteps crossing into my quiet.Only one person walked into this house like he still had a right to.Reid.I didn’t lift my head right away. Part of me wanted to pretend I hadn’t heard him. That I was asleep or indifferent or frozen in one of the many walls I’d built since the day I walked out of this house with nothing but my suitcase and my pride.But pretending didn’t work with Reid anymore.He stepped into the living room holding a small paper bag, shoulders squared, dressed down in that black hoodie I used to steal when we still slept in the same bed. The sight of it made something old ache behind my ribs.He paused when he saw me. His expression softened instantly. That subtle shift I knew so well. His mask fell, ju