Page 36 of Pretty Little Trigger
CHAPTER 35
Alana
Training felt amazing.
My body aches in the best kind of way.
The earned kind. I feel strong.
Not because I’m wearing layers of silver or a carefully curated outfit.
Not because I’m hidden behind highlighter or heels.
But strong on my own.
Just me. My body. My breath.
My grit. And God, I love that feeling.
The elevator dings and when the doors slide open, I’m greeted by a familiar smile.
My dad.
I don’t hesitate.
I run to him, throwing my arms around his neck, not even caring that I’m sweaty and flushed from training.
He hugs me tightly, like he always does.
Like he means it with his whole chest.
“Happy birthday, Princess,” he says.
And just those words, just him showing up unannounced, would’ve been gift enough.
But it’s my dad. Lavish gifts is how he shows up.
I’ve come to accept that.
To appreciate it.
He takes my hand, eyes sparkling as he leads me across the garage toward something that makes me blink twice to believe it.
A beige G-Class Mercedes.
Brand new. Gleaming.
Parked like it owns the space.
And sitting atop it, of course, a ridiculous, oversized red bow.
I laugh. “Ah, thanks, Dad!”
But even as I say it, my mind flashes back to this morning.
To a small, pink cupcake with a single lit candle.
To the man who brought it to me quietly, without expectation and placed it on my nightstand like it meant nothing.
And somehow? I think I love that more.
My dad grins, clearly pleased with himself.
“Do you have any idea how slow I had to drive the damn thing here, just so that bow wouldn’t come flying off?”
I smile and shake my head.
“You’re the best. I love it.”
“Come on, let me walk you up,” he says, tossing me the keys.
“I need to grab your old set. Figured I’d take the Range to the dealership and trade it in.”
I nod.
The Range has too many memories.
Ones I didn’t choose.
Ones I don’t want back.
This? This feels like a new chapter.
A fresh page. A clean set of keys to something that doesn’t hurt to hold.
We head back up to the apartment together.
When the elevator doors slide open onto our floor, my dad nudges Hunter with his elbow and grins.
“I still can’t believe my daughter was up this early.”
Hunter chuckles, glancing at me.
“She didn’t exactly leap out of bed.”
“Hey,” I protest. “I showed up, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Hunter says, voice low but warm.
“Eventually.”
My dad laughs as we step into the apartment.
“She used to fake stomach cramps to get out of netball practice. This is progress.”
“Some of those cramps were real,” I mutter, kicking off my sneakers.
Hunter flashes me a smirk but doesn’t say more.
Salem is waiting by the door, tail twitching like he’s unimpressed by all the commotion.
My dad gives him a quick scratch behind the ears, like they’ve got their own secret handshake.
I head into the kitchen and start the coffee.
Hunter hovers by the counter for a moment longer, eyes scanning the room like he’s still half on duty, before he finally sits.
I set down three mugs.
My dad takes his with one sugar, eyes thoughtful.
“There’s still no leads,” he says, his voice soft but tight around the edges.
My stomach sinks.
“The investigation,” he adds.
“Whoever they were, they’ve vanished.”
I wrap my hands around my mug and shake my head.
“I’ll be okay, Dad.”
He looks at me like he wants to believe me.
Needs to. But the worry is etched into the lines near his eyes.
“I mean it,” I say. “I’m getting stronger every day. And Hunter’s taught me how to handle myself. I’m not the same girl I was months ago.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Hunter shift.
He’s still. But tense.
Like something in what I said touched the wrong nerve.
Like it stings to hear I won’t need him forever.
Then he stands. Abrupt.
The chair scrapes against the floor as he pushes it back.
“I’m gonna go shower,” he mutters, already heading down the hall.
The door to his room clicks shut behind him.
My dad watches him go, then looks back at me with a lifted brow.
“What?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee like nothing just happened.
He smiles into his mug.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Think quieter,” I mutter, but I’m smiling too.
Then something in him shifts, like he’s had another thought.
“What?” I ask, prying.
He hesitates, then blows on his coffee like he’s buying time.
“There’s something else,” he says eventually.
“Strange, actually.” He sets his mug down.
“Last night, the twenty million came back.”
I blink.
“Came back?”
He nods, slow.
“All of it. Same amount. Same reference number. Like someone mirrored the original payment. Quiet. Clean. No trace. No note. Just… reversed.” He laughs, but there’s no humour in it.
“Callum says they must have gotten scared.”
And the thought of that should make me angry.
That I got taken for no reason.
That it all feels… pointless.
But the money’s back now and it feels like I’m one step closer to closing this chapter.
Burying the trauma. Maybe this is what closure looks like: a full circle.
A balance reset.
And maybe, just maybe…
it’s okay to feel a little relieved.