The Hollow Doll

Smoothing down her uniform to stop her trembling hands, Nyssa stepped from the secluded hallway into the grand foyer. The highly anticipated mating ceremony was exactly seven days away, and the massive pack house already hummed with an endless stream of visiting leaders. Neighboring Alphas and dignitaries poured through the double doors, bringing a suffocating wave of festivity to the Grimwood territory.

Fading into the background like a ghost, Nyssa stood by a towering marble pillar. She held a silver tray of champagne glasses, her posture rigid. From here, she watched the cruel, theatrical play unfold without drawing attention.

Alpha Garrick and Luna Isolde commanded the entrance. They welcomed their esteemed guests with booming voices and practiced grace. Just a few steps away, Cormac stood tall. He puffed his chest with arrogant pride while Talia clung to his side, glowing. Cormac eagerly caught the eye of a visiting dignitary and stepped forward to make the introductions.

"It is an honor to welcome you," Cormac said, his voice carrying over the crowd. He placed a possessive hand on Talia's lower back. "Allow me to introduce my mate, Talia."

*My mate.*

He said it to the visiting Alphas and emissaries alike. Every single time, he used those exact words. He never once clarified the truth to these outsiders. He never admitted she was merely his *chosen* mate—a political convenience forged from betrayal. He hid his ugly actions behind his thick Alpha pride, cowardly protecting his image.

Every time those possessive words echoed through the foyer, the sound struck Nyssa like a physical blow. Her chest tightened. It felt as though her delicate ribs were fracturing, splintering into dust under the weight of his lie. Yet, she kept her jaw locked and maintained her posture.

Needing a single second of respite from the charade, Nyssa retreated into a shadowed alcove near the grand staircase. She set her tray down on a small side table and took a shallow breath.

"You don't have to be here, Nyssa."

The voice jolted her. Nyssa turned. Her mother—no, she corrected herself instantly, *Corinne*—stepped into the alcove. Deep worry lines etched Corinne's aging face. Maternal guilt radiated from her stance in thick, suffocating waves.

"I can stay if they need help," Corinne offered. Her voice sounded weak, trembling under the weight of her own regret.

Nyssa straightened her spine. "This is the job required of me, Ms. Corinne."

Her tone was deliberately formal. It was stiff, professional, and utterly devoid of any familial recognition.

Corinne flinched. Tears pooled in her eyes, making them glisten in the dim light of the alcove. "I know. I know how bad this hurts," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I am so sorry, Nyssa. I am sorry that I cannot offer you any real comfort. I am sorry I cannot support you through this ordeal."

Nyssa stared at the woman who gave birth to her. She met that desperate, pleading gaze with a chilling, absolute calm. The air between them dropped in temperature, freezing over.

"No disrespect, Ms. Corinne," Nyssa said, her voice remarkably steady. Her tone held no fiery bitterness and no lingering warmth. It was a barren wasteland. "But you do not know how painful this is for me. How could you?"

Corinne opened her mouth, but Nyssa didn't let her speak.

"You have your fated mate with you," Nyssa continued, her words precise and sharp. "No one has violently ripped him from your soul. You haven't had to watch the very family that should have fiercely protected you stand by and deliberately look the other way."

Corinne let out a pathetic gasp. She raised a shaking hand to her mouth, but Nyssa held her ground.

"The exact moment you chose your political duty over your own daughter," Nyssa said, "you stopped being my mother."

The brutal, unvarnished truth struck Corinne like a whip. She recoiled, her shoulders caving in, unable to utter a single argument. They both knew the reality of the situation. Corinne had definitively made her choice. She backed Talia. She backed the legitimate heir and the pack's political future. She traded Nyssa's broken, bleeding soul for stability.

Tears spilled down Corinne's cheeks. She took a hesitant step forward, desperate to salvage whatever scraps of their bond remained. "Please, Nyssa. I know you hate this house right now. But we can meet secretly. Outside the pack borders. Anywhere you want." She let out a pathetic sob. "I miss our late-night talks. I miss my daughter."

Nyssa's expression remained a mask of stone. Not a single muscle in her face twitched. "Talia is being mated in a week," she replied. "She will need her mother's complete support. Focus all your strength on her."

Nyssa swallowed hard. A desperate, screaming thought clawed at her throat: *And leave me out of it completely.* She bit her tongue and kept the words locked inside.

Profound shame instantly silenced Corinne. Her head dropped. She knew she had made her irreversible bed, and now she had to lie in it. There was nothing left to say.

Nyssa turned away from the shattered woman. She picked up her tray and returned to the bright lights of the foyer. She did what she always did now. She worked tirelessly. When a visiting leader approached, she answered their mundane questions with flawless, robotic courtesy.

To the outsiders, she was the picture of a poised, highly capable Beta's daughter. She served the Grimwood Pack with distinction. But to those few who truly knew her, the transformation was terrifying. She was no longer a loving daughter, a loyal sister, or even a grieving woman.

She was just a doll. Hollow. Painted with a perfect, polite smile that never once reached her dead eyes.