The mating ceremony was only seven days away, and already the pack house was bursting with activity. Leaders of neighboring packs had begun to arrive, bringing with them an air of importance and festivity. The Alpha and Luna were constantly at the entrance hall, welcoming each guest with practiced grace, while Michael and Kathy-shining as the picture of a promising future-stood proudly beside them. From her place in the background, Elaine watched it all unfold like a cruel play. She could see the smiles stretched across the Alpha couple's faces, could hear the pride in their voices as they accepted congratulations from pack after pack. Each time a leader bowed in respect and praised their "future Alpha and Luna," Elaine caught the subtle gleam in Michael's eyes as he introduced Kathy. "My mate, Kathy." Always those words. Never chosen mate. He never admitted to what she truly was. Perhaps he thought concealing the truth would protect the pack's image, or perhaps the pride in his voice was too thick to allow for shame. Either way, Elaine heard it every time, and every time, her chest tightened until she thought her ribs might shatter. "You don't have to be here, Elaine. I can stay if they need help." The voice of her mother-no, not mother, she corrected bitterly-Lucille broke into her thoughts. Elaine turned to find her standing nearby, worry etching her features. "This is the job required of me, Ms. Lucille," Elaine replied, her tone polite but clipped, her words deliberately formal. Lucille's lips trembled. "I know how painful this must be for you. And I am sorry that I cannot do anything to ease that pain." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I am sorry that as your mother, I cannot support or give you comfort." Elaine turned her head slightly, meeting her gaze with an expression so calm it was almost chilling. "No disrespect, Ms. Lucille, but you do not know how painful this is for me. How could you?" Her voice was steady, every syllable deliberate. "You have your mate with you. No one has ripped him from your soul while the very family that should have protected you stood by and looked the other way." Lucille gasped, but Elaine did not stop. Her eyes were clear, void of bitterness, void of warmth, like she was addressing a stranger. "You are right, Ms. Lucille. As my mother, you gave me nothing. Not supported. Not comfort. The moment you chose duty over your own daughter, you stopped being my mother." The words struck like lashes across Lucille's heart, and she flinched as though each one left a mark. Shame burned her cheeks, but she could not argue. Not when every word Elaine spoke was the truth. She had chosen Kathy. Chosen the child carrying the heir, chosen the pack's future over her other daughter's broken soul. And though her heart ached for Elaine, she did not know how to fix what she had destroyed. At last, her voice trembled, quiet and almost pleading. "You are right, I don't know the pain you're enduring. But you can still talk to me, Elaine. I miss our late-night talks. I miss my daughter. I know you don't want to stay with us in the pack house, but... we can meet somewhere else, if that would be easier. Or I can come to you." Her eyes searched Elaine's, desperate for the smallest sign of hope. Elaine's expression did not waver. "Again, no disrespect, Ms. Lucille, but your daughter needs you. Kathy is being mated in a week. She will need her mother's support. Focus your strength on her." She swallowed hard, biting back the words that hovered on the edge of her tongue-and leave me out of it. Lucille's lips parted, but no sound came. She looked as though she wanted to protest, to insist she could be there for both daughters, but the shame in her eyes betrayed the truth. She had already chosen, and both of them knew it. So Elaine did what she always did. She stayed. She worked. She smiled when necessary, spoke when spoken to, answered questions with flawless courtesy. To the visiting Alphas and Lunas, she appeared every bit the efficient Beta's daughter: poised, capable, and professional. But those who truly knew her-those who had watched her light dim over the past three weeks-saw something else. Not a daughter. Not a sister. Not even a woman in mourning. Just a doll. Hollow. Painted with a smile that never reached her eyes.