Page 49 of Pretty Little Trigger
CHAPTER 48
Alana
Cameras flash and champagne flutes clink like crystal wind chimes.
Someone’s wearing Creed Aventus a little too confidently.
It smells like wealth and curated ego.
The gallery is bathed in low, moody lighting with strategic spotlights illuminating each installation.
The walls gleam bright white under the glow, casting silver-toned reflections onto the polished floors.
The windows are tall and black-framed, stretching high above us, reflecting nothing but the darkness outside and the brilliance within.
Our pieces rest on custom statues.
Frozen figures, brutalist and raw, each one holding a fragment of metal, light and story.
They don’t just display the jewellery.
They elevate it. Like altars.
Like offerings.
The collection looks incredible.
A little dangerous. Exactly how I saw it in my head.
I’m wearing our hero piece tonight.
The jewelled blue topaz dress.
It clings to my body like sin poured over skin.
I paired it with a beige body suit underneath, but let’s be honest—I’m practically naked.
I added baby blue Louis Vuitton ankle boots and twisted my hair into a messy bun, letting a few strands fall like I didn’t try too hard.
It’s a look. It’s a weapon.
And I’m the one holding it.
People congratulate me like I’ve just been knighted.
I smile. Pose. Float.
All part of the game.
My dad’s near the bar, offering me a small smile.
He’s talking to Emily.
His hand moves, like he might touch her back.
But he doesn’t. Not quite.
I look away before I can make it a thing.
I make my way around the room, greeting influencers, smiling at guests and then I see Jenyx coming toward me.
She embraces me with a wide smile.
“Ah, darling, what a huge success! You should be so proud. Your collection is incredible.”
The centrepiece she designed for us is unreal.
It’s everything I wanted and more.
“Thanks to you,” I praise.
“A team effort then. Why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend was going to be working this event?”
What?
Her comment throws me off kilter for a moment.
I follow her line of vision and then I see him.
Leaning against the far wall.
Black jeans. Boots. That fucking leather jacket.
His posture’s perfect—jaw set, eyes sharp, earpiece in.
And then it hits me.
We contracted the company he works for to handle security for tonight’s event.
He probably just got stationed here.
It means nothing.
It’s been two weeks now since he left.
I’ve gone back to Pilates and that feels like another battle I’ve won.
I’m not scared anymore.
I don’t need him. I’m strong.
Capable. I’m more aware of my surroundings now.
I check the back of my car (it’s new and it feels like a clean slate) and I move on.
And almost like he can sense me staring, his gaze flicks to mine and time slows.
I lose myself in it, for just a moment.
God, I hate that my body still reacts like this.
That my skin flushes and my chest tightens and that stupid ache rises in my throat.
Because even now, after everything, I still feel something.
Still want something.
I push the thought away.
“Excuse me,” I say to Jenyx.
Then I turn on my heel, my dress swishing like a slap and disappear down the hall.
I exhale sharply through my nose, counting backwards from five like Emily taught me.
Not because I’m scared.
Not anymore. Just… frayed.
Like he split me down the seam with a single glance.
As I make my way to the quieter part of the venue, I find Ryan leaning against a wall, his gaze scanning the crowd.
He notices me almost instantly, straightening with an easy smile.
“Alana,” he greets, his voice low and warm, but not pushy.
“Thank you so much for having me.”
“Thanks for coming all this way,” I say, keeping my tone polite but distant.
He hesitates, then continues, his voice shifting to something more intentional.
“Don’t thank me. Just agree to have dinner with me so we can discuss how Rock & Metal will fit into VYBE .”
I pause, weighing my options, but before I can respond, he tilts his head slightly.
“Tessa can come too, of course,” he adds with a small grin.
“Where is she tonight? I haven’t seen her yet.”
Interesting.
I’m not even sure they’ve ever met in person.
For all their back-and-forth emails and texts, their relationship lives entirely in the digital ether.
Still, he asks like he knows her.
Like he should.
“She’s around here somewhere,” I reply, looking around the room for her.
“So what do you say? Dinner? You, Tessa, my other partners?” he asks, one brow raised, like it’s already half a done deal.
“Yes,” I say finally.
“I’ll get Tessa to set that up. Let me go find her now.”
I give him a nod and head toward the back of the gallery, past the last installation, where the white walls bleed into quiet.
The buzz of the crowd fades behind me, replaced by the muffled hum of soft jazz playing from the hallway speakers.