Page 73 of Pretty Little Trigger
CHAPTER 72
Alana
The sky is soft blue through the windows.
The jet is almost too quiet.
It’s just me, my dad and the soft whir of pressurised air as we climb higher above the city.
The cabin lights are dimmed, the seats butter-soft cream leather.
I tuck a blanket around my legs, not because I’m cold.
But because I need something to hold onto.
My dad’s reviewing something on his tablet across from me, brow furrowed.
Sharp. Composed. Like everything is under control.
He glances up. “You comfortable?”
I nod.
“I’m really doing this.”
He smiles faintly.
“New York, baby. A fresh start.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s just a work trip.”
“Same thing, right?” he says, setting the tablet aside.
“I’m proud of you kid.”
My heart warms. I look out the window.
We’re above the clouds now.
I wait a beat before I ask.
“Hey… I meant to say, at the Winter Launch, I saw you with Emily.”
He stills.
Not stiffly. Just… carefully.
“Oh,” he says. Then, quieter, “Yeah.”
I hesitate.
“Are you…?”
He leans back and runs a hand through his hair like he’s bracing for something bigger.
“It’s complicated,” he admits.
“She helped you through a lot. We’ve known each other a long time, but It’s never gone any further. She’s too professional. It’s one of the things I love most about her.”
Love.
He loves her.
“Dad, why didn’t you say something sooner? I’m firing her as my therapist the moment we land—”
“Alana,” he tries to cut me off.
“No, dad. I can find a new therapist. Emily will always be in my life, just not professionally anymore. She’s family.”
He sighs defeated.
I blink. “Dad. You’re allowed to be happy again.”
He looks at me like I’ve just said something impossible.
Then he says, “You too, Princess.”
We sit in that silence for a while.
Eventually, he gets up and moves to the back of the cabin to take a call, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I reach into my tote to grab my AirPods but then my hand brushes against the letter.
I open it, slowly.
Alana,
I don’t know where to begin.
But I need to try. I need you to understand, even if it’s the last thing I do.
You were never an assignment.
The security firm? I own it.
Inherited it from my father.
And yes, not everything we do is above board.
When Callum brought your dad’s name across my desk, it was supposed to be business.
But then I saw your photo and I was done for.
I volunteered to track you.
To extract you. And then I stayed.
Told myself I’d reassign the case, that I’d walk away.
But I didn’t. Because I already knew that I couldn’t stay away from you.
I returned the ransom.
On your birthday. I couldn’t keep it.
Didn’t want to. It felt wrong.
From the moment I met you, I knew you would change me.
You were wild, untamed, beautiful in ways that scared me.
I never wanted to be the villain in your story.
But even then, I knew I could never be the man you needed.
So I pretended. I became someone else, because being close to you meant more than being honest. I loved you, Alana.
From the first moment.
I still do. But love isn’t enough.
You deserve better. Someone who doesn’t come wrapped in shadows and secrets.
Someone who never had to lie to earn your trust. I’m not asking for your forgiveness.
I’m asking you to move on.
Move forward. Find the peace and the love you deserve.
And when that love finds you, I hope you let it in with an open heart.
You’ll be better off without me.
I’m just a shadow in your past now and that’s where I need to stay.
Thank you for showing me I could feel something beyond the emptiness I’ve known for so long.
Love, K
I stare at the letter in my hand, the paper crinkled at the corners where I’ve been gripping it too tight.
My eyes burn. My throat aches.
And no matter how many times I blink, the tears just won’t stop.
Because this letter?
It’s closure. Not perfect.
Not clean. But real.
And I didn’t know how badly I needed it until now.
I press the paper to my chest and close my eyes for a moment.
I don’t forgive him.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But I understand. And that’s enough—for now.
Enough to let go. Enough to start again.
I take a deep breath.
Inhale. Exhale. And for the first time in weeks…
it doesn’t rattle.
Kelly, my dad’s private air hostess, appears beside me with a gentle smile.
“Miss Ashby,” she says softly.
“Breakfast?”
I nod, wiping my cheeks quickly.
“Yes, please.”
She sets the tray down in front of me with perfectly poached eggs on toasted English muffins, hollandaise glistening like gold, crispy bacon folded beside it just the way I like.
Eggs Benedict. My favourite.
“Thank you,” I say, voice still a little hoarse, but steady.
She smiles. “Of course.”
I eat.
Every single bite. No hesitation.
No forced swallows. Just bite after bite, like I deserve it.
Like I’m allowed to have this moment.
And when my plate is clean, I lean back in the seat and rest my head against the leather.
I’m going to New York.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might actually be okay.
Maybe not healed. Not yet. But free.