Chapter 34
Lawsuit
~REVERIE~
"Just the top of the house!" I call out encouragingly, watching Nash carefully position the final gingerbread roof piece with surgeon-like precision. "Slowly, slowly! Don't rush it or the whole thing might collapse!"
We're in the middle of Oakridge's bustling town square, surrounded by at least twenty other competing packs at the annual Gingerbread House Making Contest. It's absolutely freezing outside—my breath comes out in white puffs that disappear quickly into the crisp December air—but the atmosphere is warm and festive and buzzing with excited competitive energy that makes the cold bearable.
Strings of twinkling lights are draped everywhere, wrapped around lamp posts and bare tree branches and the ornate gazebo in the center of the square.
Christmas music plays from speakers hidden somewhere—currently 'Jingle Bell Rock'—mixing with laughter and chatter from dozens of people.
The smell of hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts and fresh cinnamon rolls from nearby vendors fills the cold air, making my mouth water despite the nervous butterflies in my stomach.
Snow crunches under our boots. Everything feels magical and perfect and like a scene from a holiday movie that I'm somehow lucky enough to be starring in.
Four weeks ago, I never could have imagined I'd be here.
Standing in the town square with three incredible Alphas who want to keep me permanently. Building gingerbread houses and competing in community events and living my best life. It still doesn't feel completely real sometimes.
Like I'm going to wake up and discover it was all a beautiful dream.
Nash's hands are remarkably steady despite the cold as he lowers the gingerbread roof piece onto the royal icing we've spread along the edges with careful precision. The fit is perfect. The angles line up exactly right. The structure holds without any wobbling or shifting.
"There!" Grayson says from beside me, grinning widely. "That's it! We actually did it! It didn't collapse!"
Theo snaps a photo of our completed creation with my phone, then gives us an approving nod.
"Structurally sound. Aesthetically pleasing. Excellent teamwork. Good work, pack."
We all cheer together, practically bouncing with excitement like children on Christmas morning.
"Gingerbread!" we shout in unison, which has somehow become our ridiculous team chant for absolutely no logical reason other than it makes us laugh every single time.
Our gingerbread house looks absolutely incredible if I do say so myself.
It's a two-story Victorian-style structure with intricate royal icing details piped along every edge, candy cane columns supporting the front porch, gumdrop pathway stones leading to the entrance, and a dusting of powdered sugar snow delicately covering the roof like fresh snowfall.
We've been working on it for almost two full hours, and every single minute shows in the careful craftsmanship and attention to detail.
The windows are made from crushed hard candies that look like stained glass when the light hits them.
The door has tiny icing hinges. There's a miniature wreath made from green icing and red hot candies hanging on the front.
The chimney is constructed from chocolate squares with little icing bricks.
I'm so proud of it. Proud of us. Proud that we worked together and created something beautiful. It's been so long since I felt proud of something I made. Kael always criticized everything I did. Nothing was ever good enough. But this? This is good. I know it is.
The judges start making their rounds through the competition area, three older Omegas in matching red aprons embroidered with 'Oakridge Holiday Committee' carrying clipboards and looking very official and intimidating.
I recognize the head judge—Patty Mabel, who helps run the legendary Oakridge Bakery on Main Street and is apparently a living legend in the local baking community according to everything I've heard.
She approaches our table with careful, deliberate steps, her experienced eyes taking in every single detail of our gingerbread house from multiple angles.
She walks around it slowly, inspecting from all sides.
Checks the structural integrity by gently pressing on the walls to test their strength.
Examines the icing work up close with a magnifying glass.
Studies the decoration placement and symmetry with a critical eye.
Please like it. Please think it's good. Please don't find anything wrong with it. We worked so hard. And I really want to win something. Just once. Just to prove I can do something right. Just to prove I have value.
Then she does something I didn't expect—she breaks off a small piece of the wall and actually tastes it. Tests the quality of the gingerbread itself, not just the appearance.
Her eyes widen dramatically.
She makes a small sound of genuine surprise and delight that makes my heart leap with hope.
"This—" She pauses, tasting again more carefully, more deliberately, really paying attention to the flavors.
"How is the molasses and ginger blend so perfectly balanced?
The spices are exactly right. Not too overpowering but still distinct and flavorful.
The texture is ideal—crisp but not hard, sturdy but not dry.
And there's something else I'm tasting..
. is that a hint of cardamom? And maybe a touch of black pepper? "
I blush, nodding eagerly.
"Yes! Just a tiny bit of each to enhance the other flavors without being obvious. The cardamom adds warmth and the black pepper gives it depth."
Patricia turns to the other two judges with visible excitement and urgency.
"You both need to try this immediately. This is exceptional quality. Professional-level work."
The other two judges each take small samples from different parts of the house to test consistency, and their reactions mirror Patricia's exactly. Eyes lighting up with surprise. Small sounds of appreciation and approval. Surprised pleased smiles spreading across their faces.
"Absolutely remarkable," the second judge says, making detailed notes on her clipboard. "Professional-level baking. This isn't amateur hour."
"The flavor profile is sophisticated," the third judge adds. "Complex but balanced. This takes real skill and understanding of baking chemistry."
"Does your pack have extensive baking experience?" Patricia asks, looking between all four of us with genuine interest. "This level of quality doesn't come from following a box recipe."
Nash speaks up smoothly, his voice warm with pride.
"Reverie bakes here and there. She's brilliant at it. Natural talent."
My heart does a little flip at the way he says it. Like he's genuinely proud of me. Like my baking matters. Like I matter.
Patricia's eyes light up even more.
"Would you be willing to make a batch of these gingerbread cookies for our staff holiday party? It's next week on Christmas Eve. We'd pay triple the standard rate since we know you must be incredibly busy this time of year."
I blink in surprise, my mind trying to process the request.
"You—you want to hire me to bake for you?"
"Absolutely," she confirms with a warm smile. "This quality deserves to be shared. And our staff would be thrilled."
"I'd be honored!" I manage to say, still slightly stunned. "Thank you so much!"
Patricia makes a final note on her clipboard, then moves to the front of the competition area where a microphone and small stage have been set up. The other judges follow her.
The crowd starts gathering, sensing the announcement is coming.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for your incredible creativity and enthusiastic participation today!" Patricia's voice carries clearly across the square. "We had twenty-three entries this year, which is a record! The competition was fierce and the quality was outstanding across the board!"
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. Grayson's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. Theo stands solid beside me. Nash's hand rests reassuringly on my shoulder.
I want this so badly. Want to win. To prove I'm good at something. Have something to be proud of. Please let us win. Please.
"After careful deliberation and tasting," Patricia continues, building the suspense expertly, "the judges have reached a unanimous decision. The winner of this year's Oakridge Gingerbread House Competition, with the highest scores in both presentation and taste, goes to..."
She pauses. The crowd is silent.
Waiting.
My hands are shaking.
"Reverie and her Alphas, Nash, Grayson, and Theo!"
Everyone around us erupts in applause and cheers and congratulations. I stand there completely frozen, shocked, unable to process what I just heard.
We won. We actually won. I won something. First place. Me. I did something right. I created something good enough to win. I have value. I can do things. I'm not worthless.
Tears spring to my eyes. Happy tears. Proud tears. Relieved tears. All the emotions hitting at once.
Theo has his phone out, and I realize with a start that he's been filming the entire thing live on my TikTok account. He added my account to his phone to help filter things out because it’s been overwhelming with the growth, but now he angles it toward me as I process the win, capturing my genuine shocked delight and happy tears for all my followers to see.
I turn toward the camera, forcing myself to focus through the emotional overwhelm.
"That's it, folks! We won! Can you believe it?
!" I laugh, still slightly dazed and disbelieving.
"We actually won first place! With my grandmother's recipe!
This is amazing! We'll be getting off a bit early today to help with cleanup and pack up our gingerbread house!
Thank you so much for watching and being here with us! "
I reach for the phone to check the viewer count before ending the stream, my hands still shaking slightly from adrenaline and joy.