Page 21 of The Honor of Being Hers (Terms of Devotion #1)

The grove behind the west wing was too quiet.

Ancient oak trees filtered the harsh afternoon light, casting dappled shadows across moss-covered ground that smelled of earth and decay.

The stone bench was cold beneath her thighs, the dampness seeping through her jeans, but she welcomed the discomfort.

Lauren sat low on the weathered granite, one knee drawn up, her fingers absently worrying the seam of her cashmere sleeve.

The stitching was rough under her fingernail, and she picked at it methodically, needing something small to control when everything else felt impossibly large.

The stone was cold beneath her, keeping her in the present in a way that almost worked. Almost.

She’d turned her phone off an hour ago. Although it might have been longer. Time wasn’t moving properly.

The words from the leaked file had stopped replaying in front of her in perfect order, but they hadn’t left her.

They floated just under her skin, fragments that burned when they brushed the surface.

Unscheduled. Incomplete bond. Her identifiers.

Her heat. Her body, dissected and diagrammed like a policy risk.

No one had called it abuse. No one had to. That wasn’t how institutional violence worked. It was always cleaner on paper.

Footsteps broke the silence.

Soft ones. No boots. No heavy stride. Lauren didn’t look up, not at first. Not until a familiar voice cut through the fog like a hand to the back of her neck.

“There you are.”

She blinked.

Justin.

Even in crisis, he looked impeccably put together—his dark hair perfectly styled, those sharp cheekbones she’d always envied catching the filtered sunlight. However, there was something softer in his usually fierce expression, a gentleness that spoke of shared understanding.

He wasn’t in a hurry. He didn’t seem angry or breathless or rattled.

He wore a long, tan coat over dark jeans, the collar turned up against the cold, and he carried a thermal mug in one hand, as if this was just another campus coffee run.

Steam curled from the lid, carrying the scent of cinnamon and something warm that made her throat tighten unexpectedly.

When he reached her, he didn’t sit right away. He just stood there, looking at her, his face unreadable in the way it got when he was working too hard not to make something worse.

“Rachel told me where you were,” he said, quietly now. “Or I wouldn’t have found you. You do know how to disappear when you want to.”

Lauren lowered her gaze.

Justin stepped closer, then sank onto the edge of the bench, his hip brushing her knee.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“They used my records,” she said finally. Her voice cracked once, but she didn’t stop. “My cycle data. Suppressants. All of it. They put it on an internal board for policy review.”

Justin didn’t move.

“They didn’t even redact it,” she whispered. “Didn’t blur out my initials. Just… presented it. Like I was a case study.”

She was shaking again.

Justin reached over and wrapped one hand around hers. Warm fingers with manicured nails, steady pressure that grounded her. His skin was soft from the expensive hand cream he always used—bergamot and vanilla—but his grip was firm, honest, anchoring her to something outside the spiral in her head.

“Do you want me to say it’s going to be okay?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said, voice gentler. “Because I wasn’t going to.”

He didn’t offer her a cup of tea or a lecture. He didn’t tell her she was strong or brave or justified. He just held her hand while the leaves moved overhead, and the wind threaded through her sleeves.

“I know what that feels like,” he said finally. “Being reduced to the data. To what they think an Omega should do.” His thumb stroked once across her knuckles, the gesture gentle but fierce in its protectiveness.

She looked at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “When?”

Justin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Four years ago. A client tried to have me removed from a major campaign because they said my ‘Omega instincts’ made my designs too emotional, too soft for their brand. Said I couldn’t understand what strong leadership looked like.

Took six months and three industry friends vouching for me to get another contract, and it was ultimately the reason I started my own brand. ”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because back then, I didn’t want you to look at me like this.” He squeezed her fingers. “Now I think you might understand.”

She did.

And it made her furious.

She leaned forward suddenly, chest to knees, her hand still gripped tight in his. The denim stretched tight across her bent legs, and she could feel her heartbeat against her thighs, rapid and unsteady.

“I don’t want to go back,” she said. “I don’t want them to see me like this. I don’t want to answer questions, get reassurances, or listen to platitudes. I’m so angry, I want to burn down every server that stores my information or hosts the message board. Even if it’s useless”

“Then let’s.”

“What?”

Justin tilted his head. “You think I showed up with a coffee mug and fabulously contoured cheekbones just to hold your hand?”

She stared at him.

“I have contacts,” he said. “Sarah’s already researching legal precedents for privacy violations and building a case file.

Rachel is reaching out to her high-profile clients, CEOs, and athletes who can make noise about institutional discrimination.

Samantha’s documenting the health impacts through her veterinary research connections—” His voice caught slightly.

“Though she’s dealing with her family demanding she drop everything for them again.

Some undoubtedly manufactured crisis about her mom needing ‘help’ that somehow requires reducing her hours at the clinic.

God forbid she might scrape enough together to finally pursue her degree.

But that’s not the discussion we’re having today. ”

A sound escaped her, half laugh, half sob.

“You’re not alone,” he said. “Even if you don’t go back to your pack of concerned Alphas tonight. Or tomorrow. We’re still your pack, too. The one you chose before any Alpha ever touched you.”

She nodded, the motion small, her throat too tight to speak.

“We’ll help you get back on your feet, just as we’ve done a thousand times before for each other, and then we’ll help you put those arrogant intellectual dipshits in their place.”

Justin stood and pulled her up with him, his hand steady on her elbow as her legs remembered how to hold her weight.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you somewhere warm before Tyler starts pacing a trench into the stone.

I like that entryway, it’d be a tragedy to have to redecorate the entire ground floor.

” The thermal mug he pressed into her free hand was warm, the metal was smooth against her cold palms, and she caught the scent of chai and honey; comfort in a cup, chosen specifically for her.

She let him guide her back through the trees, her steps uncertain but moving.

Fallen leaves crunched softly under their feet, and she focused on the sound, the simple reality of walking forward instead of sitting still in her hurt.

The fear was still there. The anger and the shame, too, but so was a hand in hers.

A friend who’d found her. And the first breath that didn’t taste like failure.