Chapter 35 Ashes & Accusations
Ashes & Accusations
~HAZEL~
I'm elbow-deep in ghost cookie dough—literally seventeen dozen to finish before noon—when someone pounds on the bakery's back door hard enough to wake the dead.
Or at least the very exhausted baker who got approximately three hours of sleep in her new nest before her alarm dragged her back to reality.
"If that's another food blogger wanting a photo shoot, I'm going feral!" I yell, not looking up from the industrial mixer that's churning out its third batch of pumpkin spice filling.
"It's a courier!" The voice is official, impersonal, and thoroughly unimpressed with my threats of violence. "Need a signature!"
I wipe flour from my hands—it's everywhere, always everywhere, I'm pretty sure I was born with flour in my hair at this point—and open the door to find a man in a postal uniform holding an envelope that looks far too official for 6 AM on Halloween.
"Hazel Holloway?"
"Unfortunately."
"Sign here."
I sign, he leaves, and I'm left staring at an envelope with the Oakridge Municipal Court seal that makes my stomach drop somewhere around my knees.
The ghost cookies can wait.
I tear it open with shaking hands, reading words that don't make sense at first because surely—surely this is a joke.
EMERGENCY HEARING
RE: HAZEL'S HEARTH & HOME BAKERY
OCTOBER 31ST, 10:00 AM
MANDATORY ATTENDANCE REQUIRED
"What the actual fuck?"
"Language!" Mila calls from the front, where she's setting up the Halloween display. "We have a reputation!"
"We're about to lose it, apparently!" I wave the paper like it's cursed. "I have a court thing! Today! In four hours!"
She appears in the doorway, still wearing her "Witch Better Have My Cookies" apron, face shifting from amused to concerned in record time. "A court thing? Like, legal trouble court thing?"
"I don't know! It just says emergency hearing regarding the bakery!" I read it again, hoping the words will rearrange themselves into something less terrifying. "Why would there be an emergency hearing? I pay my taxes! My permits are current! I haven't poisoned anyone—recently!"
"That recent qualifier is concerning."
"Mila!"
"Calling the pack!" She's already got her phone out, fingers flying. "This is definitely a pack emergency. Maybe they're giving you a key to the town?"
"At a mandatory emergency hearing?"
"Rich people are weird?"
Thirty minutes later, I'm in my apartment trying to figure out what one wears to a surprise court appearance when three Alphas burst through the door like they're responding to a five-alarm fire.
Which, given Rowan's profession, might be accurate.
"Explain," Rowan demands, still in his station uniform, apparently mid-shift when he got Mila's text.
"I can't! I don't know what's happening!" I gesture at my closet, which is currently exploding its contents onto my bedroom floor. "Do I wear the dress? Is this a dress thing? Should I look professional? Apologetic? I don't even know what I'm apologizing for!"
"You're not apologizing for anything," Luca says firmly, already moving to my closet with the efficiency of someone who's seen me have clothing crises before. "You've done nothing wrong."
"Then why the emergency hearing?"
"Could be anything. Permit review, health inspection follow-up, noise complaints from Mrs. Patterson about the 3 AM mixer."
"That was ONE TIME!"
"She's filed three complaints," Levi says helpfully, scrolling through his phone. "I have alerts set up. You're Oakridge famous now, sunshine. People notice things."
"Great. Fantastic. I'm going to court because Mrs. Patterson doesn't appreciate artisanal baking hours."
Luca pulls out my green dress—the one from the thrift store that started this whole mess—and a blazer that somehow makes it look professional instead of "please take me seriously even though I decorate cookies for a living."
"Wear this. You'll look successful, confident, and like someone who hasn't been up since 3 AM making ghost cookies."
"I have been up since 3 AM making ghost cookies!"
"They don't need to know that."
Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed, caffeinated, and spiraling.
"What if they're shutting me down?" I pace my apartment, which is difficult because three large Alphas take up most of the available space. "What if someone got sick? What if the viral TikTok thing caused too much traffic and now they're revoking my business license?"
"Then we'll fight it," Rowan says simply. He's changed into slacks and a button-down that make him look less "firefighter captain" and more "successful businessman who could buy your whole courtroom."
"With what? My winning personality and excellent credit score?"
"With facts, evidence, and three Alphas who won't let anyone take what you've built." Luca adjusts his tie—charcoal gray, perfectly knotted, making him look like he stepped out of a magazine about successful ranch owners who also dabble in corporate takeovers.
Even Levi's dressed up, in dark jeans and a blazer over a white shirt, hair actually styled instead of the usual "I woke up like this and ran my hands through it seven times" look.
"Why are you all so dressed up?" I ask suspiciously.
"Because we're going with you," Levi says like this should be obvious.
"To court?"
"To support you," Rowan corrects. "Whatever this is, you're not facing it alone."
My chest does that thing again—that tight, warm, about-to-cry thing that's becoming far too common since they entered my life.
"I don't deserve you."
"You absolutely do," Luca says. "Now let's go. We have a hearing to attend and a bakery to defend."
The Oakridge Municipal Courthouse is a building that takes itself far too seriously for a town of 3,000 people. Built in the 1920s, all stone columns and brass fixtures, it sits on the town square like a judge waiting to pass sentence on anyone who dares park illegally.
"This is intimidating," I whisper as we climb the steps.
"That's the point," Rowan mutters. "They want you scared."
"Mission accomplished."
The hearing room is smaller than I expected—more conference room than courtroom, with a long table, rows of chairs, and a judge's bench that looks like it was salvaged from an episode of Law & Order.
And sitting at the table, looking like he owns the place… is Korrin.
I freeze.
Actually freeze, like someone hit pause on my entire existence.
He's wearing a suit—expensive, tailored, the kind that screams money and power and "I can afford lawyers who will destroy you." His hair is styled, face composed, and when he sees me, he smiles.
That smile.
The one that used to make me try harder, be better, shrink smaller.
Now it just makes me want to vomit.
"What is he doing here?" My voice is barely a whisper.
"Whatever it is," Luca's hand finds my lower back, steady and warm, "we're handling it together."
We take seats on the opposite side of the room—me between Rowan and Luca, Levi on Rowan's other side like they're forming a physical barrier between me and Korrin.
I can smell them even through my panic—cedar smoke and gingerbread and honey butter mixing with my own vanilla cinnamon that's spiked with fear-sweat and adrenaline.
The judge enters—a woman in her sixties with steel-gray hair and an expression that suggests she's deeply unimpressed with everyone in this room.
"All rise for the Honorable Judge Patricia Winters."
We stand. Korrin stands. I try not to pass out.
"Be seated." Judge Winters settles behind her bench, glasses perched on her nose, reviewing papers with the focus of someone who's seen every ridiculous case this town can produce.
"This is an emergency hearing regarding.
.." she pauses, "multiple matters concerning Hazel Holloway and her business, Hazel's Hearth & Home Bakery. "
Multiple matters?
"Mr. Voss, you filed the initial complaint. Please state your case."
Korrin stands, and he's good. Too good. The concerned ex-husband, the wounded party, the victim of cruel circumstance.
"Your Honor, I'm here to address a serious matter of defamation and harassment." His voice is smooth, practiced. "Ms. Holloway has spent the past several months systematically destroying my reputation through her business success and public statements."
I make a sound that's half laugh, half choke.
"She's gained significant social media attention," Korrin continues, pulling out printed screenshots—when did he get those?—"and in interviews and posts, has made implications about her previous marriage that are damaging and false."
"I never mentioned you!" I blurt out before I can stop myself.
"Ms. Holloway," Judge Winters says mildly, "you'll have your turn to speak."
Korrin's smile widens slightly. "She's also engaged in what I believe to be fraudulent business practices—"
"That's bullshit!" Levi's on his feet, and Rowan pulls him back down with a hand on his shoulder.
"Mr. Cambridge, contain yourself or you'll be removed."
"It's Maddox," Levi mutters. "And he's lying."
"What evidence do you have of these claims?" Judge Winters asks Korrin, and something in her tone suggests she's not as convinced as he'd like.
He presents a folder—thick, organized, clearly prepared by someone who knows how legal harassment works.
"Documentation of her success timeline, which coincidentally began immediately after our separation. Analysis of her social media presence showing targeted remarks about 'toxic packs' and 'controlling Alphas.' And testimony from pack members who witnessed her erratic behavior during our marriage."
Erratic behavior. Because trying to survive abuse is erratic.
I'm shaking now, Luca's hand tight on my knee under the table, Rowan's solid presence on my other side the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
"Furthermore," Korrin says, voice taking on a wounded quality that makes me want to throw things, "I'm concerned for her safety. Her current living situation with three unmated Alphas seems... unstable. I'm requesting a wellness check and possible intervention for—"