Page 70 of Pretty Little Trigger
CHAPTER 69
Alana
The restaurant is loud.
Not chaotic. Not obnoxious.
Just… alive. Clinking glasses.
Espresso machines hissing.
People laughing over shared plates.
Plant is always like this.
Familiar. Predictable.
Safe.
But today, the noise feels different—like pressure against my skull.
A heartbeat behind my eyes.
Too much.
I swirl the fork through my salad, pushing the arugula around the plate like it wronged me.
The grilled peaches are perfectly caramelised.
The almonds are toasted.
Everything is exactly how I ordered it.
And I still can’t bring myself to take a bite.
Across the table, Tessa’s on her phone, answering something for a supplier.
She promised she’d stay behind while I’m gone.
Keep the business running.
Keep things safe. She already made a colour-coded list of everything she’ll handle while I’m in New York.
Typical Tessa.
But today, she keeps looking up.
Watching me. Hovering.
Like I’m glass.
I stab a piece of peach, raise the fork and take a bite—just so she’ll stop watching.
She doesn’t. Her gaze sharpens as I chew.
“Alana,” she says gently, setting her phone down.
“Are you sure you’re okay going alone?”
I nod.
“It’s just a week. Give or take.”
Just a week with the VYBE team.
Of proving to everyone (and maybe to myself) that I can survive in the city that never blinks.
If I feel it’s a good fit for Rock & Metal , I’ll stay a bit longer to oversee integration.
Tessa doesn’t push. She just reaches for her matcha and lets the silence sit.
I manage another bite.
Chew. Swallow. Force it down.
But something’s wrong.
The salad is warm now.
My throat is tight. There’s a weight in the air.
Familiar. Heavy. It hits my stomach like lead.
My body knows before I do—something’s not right.
I look up. And I see him.
Standing across the table behind Tessa.
A tailored suit. Dark hair.
That jaw.
My breath catches mid-swallow.
The world blurs.
It’s Hunter.
I blink.
My fork drops.
Hunter never wore suits.
But Kaden probably does.
The realisation splinters something in my chest. My stomach lurches.
The floor tilts. My body revolts.
I turn to the side and vomit into a napkin, barely catching it.
A sharp, acidic sound that tears through the hum of brunch like glass breaking.
Gasps. A waiter hurrying over.
Someone says, “Is she okay?”
But all I hear is Tessa’s voice cutting through the chaos like a blade: “Get her water! She’s okay—she’s okay—Alana, baby, just breathe—”
I can’t.
Because when I look back to where I swear he was, but he’s gone.
Just like that. Like he was never really there.
Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe I imagined it.
But you don’t forget a ghost you never stopped loving.
I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles ache.
I force myself upright.
Pretend like my heart didn’t just break a second time.
Because if it really was him?
He saw me. And left.