Semua Bab Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract: Bab 281 - Bab 290

~Fallon~The doctor smiled at me like he’d been waiting all morning to say the words.“Well, Miss Prescott—looks like today’s the day. We’re taking it off.”My mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. My fingers curled in my lap, just above the lavender fiberglass that had wrapped my forearm for nearly a month. I stared at it like it had become a part of me. Like letting it go might unravel something else I wasn’t ready to name.“Already?” I asked.He chuckled. “It’s been four weeks and change. You’ve healed well. You did everything right. The X-rays look great.”He stepped out to gather the tools. I just sat there.The room was cold in that clinical way—white walls, stainless steel trays, a vague smell of antiseptic and lemon-scented cleaner. But something about the moment felt intimate. Like saying goodbye to a version of myself that had been broken, and splinted, and waiting.I reached over with my good hand and ran my fingers down the cast. There were faint scuffs on the surf

~Fallon~It started with a call.Not the usual check-in. Not the lingering silences we sometimes shared over FaceTime while pretending we were just friends.This one was low-voiced, soft-edged. Different.“I just wrapped a late meeting,” Reid said. “Didn’t want the night to pass without hearing your voice.”There was something about the way he said it—like the day had worn him down, and my voice was the one thing pulling him back to center.I pressed the phone tighter to my ear. “You sound tired.”“I am. But I’m better now.” He said. That silence between us wasn’t awkward anymore. It was thick. Familiar.And before I could second-guess it, I asked the question I never let myself ask.“Do you… want company?”A breath. A beat. A brief silence. “Always.” He responded finally. ⸻The drive to his place was quiet.The streets of LA had settled into their usual hum—restaurants closing, headlights slipping past on their way home. But inside the car, it felt like something was building.I d

~Reid~The door slammed behind her like a verdict.And I didn’t move.Couldn’t.Not when her voice was still ringing in my ears. Not when the air still smelled like her shampoo and maple syrup. Not when my face still burned with the echo of her hand and my heart was cracking wide open like it had been waiting for this.Fallon was gone.Again.And this time, I didn’t think she’d come back.I stood in the center of the kitchen, surrounded by the aftermath of what should’ve been peace—a plate of untouched pancakes, two cups of coffee, a morning wrapped in warmth. Her stool was still pushed back, the chair slightly angled like she was just stepping out to grab something.Like she might come back.But she wouldn’t.Not after that message.Not after LILA: I’m pregnant detonated everything.I stared at the phone in my hand as if looking hard enough would make it vanish.It didn’t.I pressed call.It rang twice.“Reid,” she answered, voice too smooth for someone who’d just dropped a bomb.“Wh

~Fallon~I saw the calls.I saw the texts.And I deleted every single one of them.Seven missed calls. Fourteen texts. Three voice notes I didn’t dare play.Reid’s name was like poison on my screen, and every time it lit up, I flinched. Not because I didn’t want to hear from him—but because I did. Because the part of me that still ached for him—the part that hadn’t stopped aching since the first time he let me down—wanted to believe there was something in his words that would fix it.But I didn’t want to be fixed.I wanted to be furious.I wanted to stay furious long enough to forget how good it felt to wake up in his arms. How safe. How whole.I didn’t want to remember the way he’d touched me like I was something sacred. Or the way he looked at me while flipping pancakes like he finally saw a future and believed I was in it.And yet I did.Every damn second.Now I was camped out on Mia’s couch, wearing the same sweatshirt for the third day in a row, surrounded by crumpled tissues and

~Fallon~The last thing I expected when I picked up my phone that afternoon was a message from her.Lila.We weren’t contacts. I never saved her number. Never needed to. Never wanted to. But there it was—her name, her message—like a thorn slipped beneath the skin of my calm.Hey. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.I was scared and stupid. The baby isn’t Reid’s. It never was. I told him already. I thought you should know.I froze.The room around me went still, like time paused just long enough to let the meaning hit.I read the message again.Then again.By the third time, I wasn’t even seeing the words anymore—I was feeling them. Cold. Sharp. Like they’d been carved from the wreckage of my trust and handed back to me with an apology taped on top.She lied.About something that big. About something that tore open a wound I hadn’t finished stitching closed. About something that should’ve been sacred.And now she wasn’t lying?Or maybe she was lying again, just in a different direction.I