Page 1 of The Honor of Being Hers (Terms of Devotion #1)

The invitation lay unopened on the corner of Lauren’s desk, still sealed in a heavy pale blue envelope.

She didn’t need to read it. She already knew what it said.

Lauren tucked a strand of light brown hair behind her ear—a nervous habit she’d never quite broken—and adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses as she stared at the envelope.

At five-foot-six, she’d never been particularly imposing, but sitting curled in her desk chair with her knees drawn up, she felt even smaller than usual.

The envelope was thick with intention. Its weight was an oppressive pressure in the room: quiet, constant, and waiting.

It had arrived three days ago, by courier; slipped into her hands with a polite smile and the kind of careful posture only Alphas used when addressing an unfamiliar Omega.

She had thanked him absently, barely glancing at the silver embossing on the front: Prof. Dr. Lauren Langford.

Her title. Not “Miss.” Not “Omega.” Not even “Langford.” That alone told her exactly what kind of event this was.

She sipped from her cooling tea, the ceramic still warm against her palms, and pushed a lazy foot against the hardwood floor, letting her chair roll an inch back.

The wood was smooth and cool beneath her bare sole.

Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, warming the woven throw across her lap.

The cotton was soft as skin, still holding the faintest trace of lavender from the drawer where she usually kept it.

It was one of Sarah’s, soft and blue, lightly marked with her scent.

A gift from last winter, during one of their stay-in weekends, back when Lauren had been too deep in dissertation edits to leave her flat.

One of her Omega friends, Sarah, had dropped the blanket off with a box of pastries and a sharp smile: “No excuses. I expect you to eat and nap today. If you don’t, I’ll know. ”

Lauren had eaten. She had napped. She always listened to Sarah, in the end. Although even Sarah would have some trouble talking her into this.

She reached for the envelope again and tapped it against her palm.

It was symposium season, not unlike the social season of earlier times, but with a distinct academic twist. The biannual Language and Logic Interface Conference was hosted by the Crown Institute of Algorithmic Theory.

Half the presenters were Alphas. The other half were either aggressively bonded Omegas or Betas with tenure and very little to lose.

She knew how it would go. She’d be introduced politely, praised a little too loudly for her clarity, and then, eventually, interrupted.

Always in the same way. “Sorry, Doctor Langford, but surely you see the instability in…” or “Forgive me, but your model overlooks…”

She would nod, listen, and refute. Her arguments would stand, but only after she’d proven she could keep her calm while being spoken over by academics who hadn’t published anything in five years.

The real problem wasn’t the symposium itself.

It was her. The way her body would react the moment she walked into a room full of unmated Alphas.

The way her instincts would kick in, that deep, biological urge to please, to defer, to make herself smaller and more agreeable.

She’d spent years learning to fight it, to push past the way her pulse quickened, and her thoughts scattered when faced with an Alpha exerting his authority.

Except those urges were ever present, lurking beneath her carefully constructed professional facade.

She exhaled through her nose. If she went, it wouldn’t be for the symposium.

A knock came at the door, two brisk raps and a pause, before it opened. Only one person in her life entered that casually.

Kyle leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Still unopened? You really are pushing the clock this time.” He stepped inside, eyeing the envelope.

"Sam’s been asking if you need anything, though she’s dealing with her family demanding she drop everything for them again.

Something about her mom needing ‘help’ that somehow requires reducing her hours at the vet clinic again.

” His jaw tightened slightly. “You know how that goes. One family crisis after another, and somehow, Sam’s always expected to sacrifice her own goals to fix everyone else’s problems. Truly, she deserves better. ”

She didn’t react to her cousin’s tangent about Samantha, she’d gotten used to them over the years. For some reason, it appeared he felt nearly as protective over Samantha as he did over her.

"I haven’t decided,” she said, not looking at her cousin.

“You’ve decided.” He crossed the room and dropped a foil-wrapped croissant onto her desk. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by this presumptuous statement. “And what exactly do you think I’ve decided?”

Kyle ignored the question. “From Rachel. Said to tell you it’s cinnamon cream, and that if you miss this conference, she’ll personally burn your thesis in front of the symposium.”

Lauren snorted. “Please, Rachel retired from threatening people ages ago.”

"No, Rachel’s just found more elegant ways to deliver them.”

She peeled back the foil and noted almost absently that the pastry was still warm in her hands.

Her traitorous stomach growled at the smell.

The croissant was perfectly golden, its layers flaky and buttery under her fingers.

She could smell the cinnamon sugar dusting and the rich vanilla cream filling.

This was Rachel’s favorite combination and probably a deliberate choice.

At that thought the meaning of her cousin’s words slowly sank in.

Her friend knew exactly which treats could tempt Lauren despite her tendency to forget meals when she was stressed.

Which meant Kyle was probably right; she may have sent her a mouth-watering croissant to sweeten the message, but she would probably burn her thesis in front of the symposium.

Somewhat startled by this revelation, she turned to look at her cousin.

Kyle sat on the arm of the couch, watching her, not pressuring. Just waiting.

He didn’t look like most Alphas. Too casual in his softness. Too comfortable with silences, but when he wanted to make a point, his posture changed. Just slightly. A stillness beneath the surface that reminded you that looks could be deceiving.

He hadn’t presented until his early twenties, and Lauren had known him long before then. It was why they worked. He wasn’t her Alpha. Just her cousin. Her grounding point. The person she called when she wasn’t sure if she was being overcautious or just self-protective.

“You know you don’t have to go,” he said, “but you should know that I spoke to your advisor. You’re listed as a keynote speaker.” He paused, watching her reaction.

Lauren stiffened. “Without asking me?”

"She says they’ve been trying. You haven’t answered them.”

She couldn’t deny that; they probably had been trying, but the last two weeks had been deadline-heavy, and she’d been low on social energy because of it. She’d let texts pile up, and voicemails too. It was a bad habit, but safer, sometimes, than replying when she wasn’t sure how she felt.

“You’ll be in control,” Kyle added. “It’s not like before.

You have tools now. Boundaries. Support.

” He gestured toward her desk, where her research papers were neatly stacked, a testament to her competence.

“And you’re not the same person who let Ryan Monroe convince you that you wouldn’t be able to make it in the in-person linguistics program.

You’ve proven yourself a dozen times over. ”

Support. She wasn’t sure whether that meant the symposium’s new Omega-friendly protocols, scent-cancellers in the ventilation systems, designated quiet spaces, respectful interaction guidelines, or the fact that her four closest friends would be there. Probably all of these things.

“Sam’s already booked the hotel,” Kyle said, as if reading her mind. “She’s promised to bring her special teas, even if she only drinks the lavender stuff. Sarah’s coming too. Justin and Rachel reserved a table near the front, so you don’t have to make the walk alone.”

Lauren stared down at the pastry, the way the sugar glistened along the folded crust. It was absurd how well they knew her. How much they had prepared for things she hadn’t even admitted to fearing.

She hadn’t been forced to interact with unrelated and unmated Alphas in years.

Not since high school, when Ryan Monroe had made her life hell with his casual cruelty and Alpha posturing.

The way he’d cornered her after classes, demanding she explain her homework answers, then mocking her when she stammered through explanations.

The way he’d made her feel small and stupid and desperate to please him even as he tore her down.

It had driven her to an online university course, to mathematics instead of the linguistics she’d originally loved, to building walls so high that few couldn’t climb them.

The idea of walking into a lecture hall filled with Alpha academics—her chest tightened, not just in panic, but also anticipation.

That twitchy kind of alertness her body gave her when something might trigger her instincts.

When she might find herself nodding along to mediocre ideas just because an Alpha voice delivered them with confidence.

“I don’t want to owe anyone,” she murmured.

Kyle’s voice was quiet. “You won’t. You have people who want to help you. That’s entirely different.”

A silence settled between them. Not heavy. Not expectant. Just real.

Finally, she unsealed the envelope. The paper was thick between her fingers, expensive and smooth, with the subtle texture of linen fibers woven through the cream-colored stock.

It tore with a whisper rather than a rip, the sound almost reverent in the quiet room.

The invitation inside was printed on heavy cardstock, all clean lines and professional typography, the ink slightly raised from the letterpress process.

Her fingertip traced over the embossed text as she read the formal language, which somehow managed to be both an invitation and a challenge.

She didn’t go because they asked; no, they demanded her presence. She went because something inside her, the steady, curious part, finally wanted to prove she could. That she could walk into a room full of Alphas and hold her ground. That Ryan Monroe’s legacy didn’t get to define her forever.

And that, more than fear, was reason enough to pack a bag.