Our first Christmas tree as a pack.
CHAPTER 37
Justice
~REVERIE~
The courtroom smells like old wood and stale coffee and fear and anticipation.
I'm sitting between Grayson and Theo at the defendant's table, my hands clasped tightly in my lap to stop them from shaking visibly. Nash stands behind us at the bar, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that makes him look incredibly professional and intimidating and nothing like the motorcycle mechanic who usually smells like motor oil and leather. Right now he smells like expensive cologne and confidence and barely contained protective rage.
The Oakridge County Courthouse isn't huge—maybe seats for fifty people in the gallery—but right now it feels massive and overwhelming and like every eye in the room is watching me. Judging me. Wondering if I'm telling the truth or if Kael is right about me.
Dark wood paneling covers the walls from floor to ceiling, making everything feel closed in and serious. High ceilings with old-fashioned brass light fixtures. Large windows along one sideletting in cold December sunlight that creates sharp shadows across the floor. The judge's bench looms at the front, elevated several feet above everyone else, imposing and intimidating. An American flag and state flag flank either side on polished brass poles. Everything feels formal and serious and like my entire future hangs in the balance of whatever happens in the next hour.
My vanilla-caramel scent is spiking with anxiety. I can smell Grayson's maple-honey next to me, steady and calming. Theo's gunpowder-pine on my other side, protective and alert. Nash's motor-oil-leather behind me, strong and reassuring. Pack scent surrounding me like armor.
Kael sits at the plaintiff's table across the aisle with his lawyer and two of his pack members, both of whom look uncomfortable being here. I can smell Kael from here even with the distance between us—that harsh chemical scent mixed with aggression and smugness and something that smells like victory.
He keeps glancing over at me with this satisfied smirk like he's already won. Like he's going to drag me back to the city and prove to everyone that I'm still his property. Still his Omega. Still under his control.
I won't go back.
The gallery behind us is absolutely packed with people. Charlotte sits in the front row directly behind our table with her entire legal team spread out around her. Patricia Morrison from the bakery sits next to her, looking fierce and ready to testify if needed. Several other Oakridge residents fill the rows—people from the gingerbread competition, store owners I've met, neighbors from the ranch. Even some of my original TikTok followers who drove hours to be here, holding supportive signs that security made them put away. The room buzzes with whispered conversations and rustling papers and nervous energy that makes my skin prickle.
Judge Roxanne Hawthorne—a stern-looking Beta woman in her sixties with gray hair pulled into a severe tight bun and reading glasses perched on her nose—surveys the room with sharp intelligent eyes. She's been presiding over this hearing for the past hour and a half, listening to arguments from both sides, reviewing documents with meticulous attention, asking pointed questions that made Timothy squirm several times.
She has a reputation for being fair but harsh, sympathetic to Omegas but intolerant of lies.
Please see through Kael's lies.
Kael suddenly stands up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Your Honor, I have an objection to state before we proceed any further."
Judge Hawthorne raises an eyebrow.
"Proceed, Mr. Thorne."
Kael gestures dramatically toward Nash.
"Nash Rivera cannot represent the Omega in this case. It's a clear conflict of interest. He's claiming to be her pack Alpha while also acting as her legal counsel. That's completely inappropriate and should disqualify him from this proceeding entirely."
My stomach drops.
I hadn't thought about that. Is that true? Can they really disqualify Nash?
Kael's lawyer—Timothy Hamilton, a slick-looking Alpha in an expensive tailored suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe who probably charges five hundred dollars an hour minimum—stands and nods in agreement with Kael's objection.
"Your Honor, my client raises an absolutely valid point that goes to the heart of legal ethics. Mr. Rivera's personal romantic and pack involvement with Ms. Bell creates an untenableconflict of interest. We request that he be immediately removed from representation and Ms. Bell be appointed a neutral court-selected attorney who has no personal stake in the outcome."
That sounds bad.
Timothy moves to the center of the courtroom with the confident swagger of someone who's used to winning.
He pulls out a folder thick with papers and legal briefs. Starts laying out his arguments methodically and precisely like he's done this a thousand times before. Shows documents to the judge. Points to specific dates and times. References pack law statutes and legal precedents. His voice is smooth and confident, the kind of voice that's used to winning arguments and intimidating opponents and making juries believe whatever he wants them to believe.
"Ms. Bell never properly dissolved her pack bonds with Mr. Thorne and his pack," Timothy states firmly, his voice carrying through the courtroom. "The documentation we've provided clearly shows numerous irregularities in the filing process. Missing signatures on key forms. Incorrect dates that don't align with the legal timeline. Forms filed with the wrong county office. Notary stamps that appear forged. The dissolution she claims to have completed is legally invalid on multiple grounds."
