Semua Bab Fallon’s Reid: An Arranged Contract: Bab 291 - Bab 300

~Fallon~The car eased to a stop at the base of the driveway, and for a full thirty seconds, I didn’t move.The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Is this the right place?”I stared up at the house, pulse fluttering like it didn’t know what to do. “Yeah,” I said with a slight nod, though it came out smaller than I meant it to. “This is it.”I got out slowly.The late afternoon air was warm but crisp, sunlight slanting across the driveway like it had been waiting for me. The mansion looked exactly as I remembered—too big, too beautiful, too much. But it didn’t feel like a threat this time. It felt like a test.And for once, I didn’t turn away.I didn’t plan to come. I didn’t text Mia. I didn’t call Reid.I just woke up that morning and felt the ache of all the questions I’d refused to answer—then found myself in the back of a car with nothing but my phone and a thousand unfinished sentences.The gates were already open. The security team must’ve recognized me on the cam

~Fallon~The car ride back was quiet.Not awkward or uncertain. Just quiet in that sacred, weightless way silence becomes when it holds more than words ever could.He held my hand the whole way. His thumb kept brushing the back of mine like a silent apology. Like he couldn’t quite believe I was still here, sitting beside him.Neither could I.When the mansion came into view, it felt surreal. Like a place I’d once dreamed of. Or escaped from. Or both.The lights were mostly out, except for the soft, amber glow from the sconces lining the hallway. Everything was hushed. The kind of quiet that only comes when the world is holding its breath.We didn’t speak as we stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind us, and my heartbeat suddenly filled the space like thunder.I didn’t let go of his hand.Not when we walked past the sitting room.Not when we climbed the grand staircase.Not even when we reached the double doors of the master bedroom—the room I hadn’t entered in months.I stopped.

~Fallon~It wasn’t supposed to be a date.Just lunch. Just sunlight. Just a slow afternoon with Reid at one of our old spots—a rooftop café in West Hollywood, tucked between boutiques and palm trees, quiet enough that no one asked questions and the servers usually pretended not to care.But apparently, the world had other plans.We’d barely been seated when the first person recognized us. A young server with a nose ring and a shaky grip on our iced lattes did a full double take like she’d just seen a ghost.“Oh—sorry,” she stammered, cheeks turning a fast shade of red. “You’re… um… you’re Fallon Prescott, right?”I gave her a soft smile. “That’s me.”Her gaze flicked to Reid. She didn’t say his name, but I saw it register behind her eyes.Reid Callahan.Aren’t they divorced?Weren’t there press statements?Wasn’t there another guy?But she didn’t ask. She just smiled too brightly and disappeared behind a tray of mimosas.I reached for my drink, fingers brushing the condensation. “Thin

~Fallon~ I should’ve known something was up. Mia had been nosy all week—subtly at first, then with the grace of a steamroller. “Are you getting your nails done?” “What’s your hair plan?” “Maybe go with the soft glam. Something timeless, you know?” And then the kicker: “Don’t wear black. This is a celebration. Go bold. Go goddess.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a dinner.” “It’s a moment,” she corrected, like she was in on a secret and barely hanging onto it. Even Reid was acting suspiciously chill. Too many calls. Too many texts that made him smirk quietly. And my parents? Suspiciously… nice. My mom had hugged me for the first time in ages. My father asked—without agenda—if I was happy. I’d chalked it all up to post-scandal healing. Family progress. Maybe they were just tired of fighting. Maybe they finally accepted that Reid and I were real again. I should’ve known better. — I wore ivory. Silk. Backless. Clean lines. No frills. It wasn’t bridal. But it whispered somethin

~Fallon~“Do we want an orchestra or a live band?”Reid was sitting cross-legged on the couch, flipping through a high-end wedding planner binder his assistant had couriered over that morning. His reading glasses—yes, he wore those now when he wasn’t trying to prove a point—slid dangerously low on his nose. He looked so serious, like we were negotiating a hostile merger.One leg was propped on the coffee table. His hair was slightly damp from a shower, his sleeves rolled, and for a second I just watched him. This man I had loved, lost, and found again—now buried in calligraphy options like it was the fate of the nation.I looked up from my Pinterest board, amused. “You own half of California, and you’re asking me about bands?”He didn’t look up. “I figured I’d try being a collaborative fiancé.”I tilted my head, mock-suspicious. “Since when?”“Since Mia threatened to lock me out of my own wedding.”“She will,” Mia called from across the room, where she was sitting cross-legged on the