Fifty seven

Fifty seven
Reid
The video was impossible to avoid.
It was everywhere — my feed, the headlines, even the business sites that had no reason to care about influencer content. My phone hadn’t stopped buzzing since it went live — a constant stream of texts, emails, and calls. Half of them were about the merger I’d been working on for months. The other half?
All about Fallon.
All about us.
The so-called love story we’d apparently perfected.
And I hadn’t watched it.
Not all of it, anyway.
But the few seconds I did see played on a loop in my mind — her laugh, soft and real. The way she leaned into me without hesitation. The warmth in her eyes when she wasn’t guarded, when she wasn’t bracing for a fight.
It looked real. Too real.
Which was exactly why I needed to stay far away from it.
“Any comment on the video, Mr. Callahan?”
I didn’t even look up from my computer. “We’re here to discuss the Prescott acquisition. Not my personal life.”
My assistant shifted awkwardly, her stack of notes trembling just slightly in her hands. “Of course, sir. But—”
“Next topic,” I said, my tone brooking no argument.
The room fell silent, and I kept my focus on the numbers — on projections and reports and spreadsheets. The things that mattered. The things I could control.
Not Fallon.
Not the way she looked at me when the cameras weren’t rolling.
Not the way that look was getting harder to pretend didn’t mean something.
“Moving on,” my assistant said, her voice clipped and professional. “We’ve finalized the Zurich deal. The partners are waiting for your approval.”
“Good.” I forced my mind back to the present. Back to business. “Schedule the call for tomorrow morning. Let’s keep things moving.”
But even as the meeting continued, my mind kept drifting — back to the way Fallon’s hand had fit so easily in mine, the way her breath hitched when I got too close.
Back to the part of the video I couldn’t stop seeing every time I closed my eyes.
Andrew called. I ignored it.
My mother texted a string of heart emojis. I left her on read.
Even my father sent a rare Good job keeping the press on your side, and I didn’t bother replying.
Because the more people talked about the video, the more I wanted to pretend it didn’t exist.
But the silence didn’t help.
Nothing did.
Not when the whole world had apparently decided that the chemistry we’d been faking was real.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure they were wrong.
Late that night, long after I should’ve been asleep, I found myself at my office desk — the glow of my laptop casting long shadows across the room. My inbox was overflowing, my to-do list untouched.
But instead of working, I clicked on the video.
The sound was low, barely more than a whisper in the quiet room, but it still hit me like a punch to the gut.
Fallon’s laugh — soft and easy.
The way she leaned into me like it was natural. Like it was instinct.
The brush of her hair against my jaw when she tilted her head back, the shape of her smile when I whispered something low and teasing.
I remembered the exact moment we’d filmed that — the way her body relaxed against mine, the way her breath caught when I adjusted the blanket around us. It hadn’t felt like acting then.
And it sure as hell didn’t look like acting now.
My phone buzzed on the desk, snapping me out of it.
I closed the video with more force than necessary, shoving my chair back and crossing the room in quick, restless strides. But even as I paced the office, the echoes of that video stayed with me.
The way she looked at me.
The way I wanted to look back.
I didn’t react because I didn’t trust myself to.
Because the line between reality and performance had started blurring — and the last thing I needed was to start believing in something that wasn’t part of the deal.
This marriage was a business arrangement. A strategic partnership. That’s what we’d agreed to.
But the problem with playing the perfect couple was that sometimes…
It felt too easy to forget it wasn’t real.
And the more time I spent with her — the more I let my guard slip — the harder it was to remember why we’d built these walls in the first place.
So I stayed quiet.
And hoped the distance would keep me from wanting more.
But the silence didn’t last.
It never did.
The next morning, I walked into the kitchen just as Fallon was pouring coffee — her hair loose and tousled, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder. She looked up when I entered, her eyes widening slightly.
For a second, neither of us said anything.
And then —
“Morning,” she said, her voice soft and uncertain.
I nodded, forcing myself to focus on the coffee pot and not the way my pulse picked up when she moved closer. “Morning.”
She hesitated. “Did you… see the video?”
My grip tightened around the mug. “I saw it.”
A pause. “And?”
I took a sip of coffee, the heat doing nothing to settle me. “It’s good content.”
Her face fell — so fast I almost second-guessed it. But she recovered quickly, her shoulders squaring as she turned away. “Right. Content.”
It shouldn’t have stung.
But somehow, it did.
When I left the house, the silence between us felt heavier than it had in days.
I told myself it was for the best. Even though it had taken us back to the point where we started.
But as I drove away, her voice still echoed in my head.
And no matter how far I went, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe the distance wasn’t keeping me safe at all.
Maybe it was just making me lonelier.