Book 1: Tower City Ch 3

Alala looking at her hand.

As Venus gracefully moved through the bustling crowd, her presence lingered on the periphery of everyone’s vision. Her striking beauty surpassed that of every other guest in attendance, yet she remained a captivating enigma, unseen and ignored. To acknowledge her was to risk social exile, a fate none in attendance dared to invite upon themselves.

Her allure was a paradox—stunning, yet repelled and despised. Mainly those belonging to the illustrious seven families dared to approach her without fear of social ruin, for she was one of them, an unwanted but inescapable presence.

In the dimly lit hall, bathed in the warm flicker of candlelight, Venus’ sad eyes settled on her twin brother, Mohsin. He effortlessly wove his charm through a captivated audience of enamored women and envious men. Mohsin, her elder by mere minutes, where he thrived in the warmth of admiration, she remained in the cold margins of neglect, an afterthought in the eyes of their parents.

Clara, their mother, bore an unspoken resentment toward Venus, one that festered deep within her heart. Clara had once considered ridding herself of the unwanted child, but the fear of social disgrace, of tarnishing Darius’ carefully cultivated reputation, had stopped her. Besides, concealing Venus’ existence would have been impossible—secrets rarely remained hidden in Tower City, not among the seven families.

There was a time when the families freely bore multiple children, their bloodlines branching out and interweaving through marriage beyond the seven. Even illegitimate children, though lesser, still carried some measure of Vaneesha’s blessing; namely the financial one, but not the same weight as the one that inherits the blessing. But over generations, the tradition of bearing only one heir per family took hold, rooted in the belief that the number of children among the seven families must never exceed the sacred number of seven. As time passed, Vaneesha’s teachings twisted and warped, reshaped by misinterpretations and self-serving beliefs.

Venus’ birth disrupted that fragile balance. An eighth child had no place among them. Whispers spread through the city, carrying rumors that her existence was a harbinger of doom—a sign that Vaneesha’s blessings were fading. Fear and superstition twisted the truth, and people began to shun her, convinced that distancing themselves would appease the divine force they had never truly understood. Others followed simply because Darius and Clara kept their distance; if her own parents would reject her, then shunning Venus was the safest way to keep the family’s favor.

Darius, ever the self-proclaimed leader, carried a commanding presence, his influence woven into the fabric of Tower City. Though no official leader existed, his words often became law. But even he saw Venus as a stain upon his legacy. To abandon her would make him look weak, yet keeping her risked further misfortune. He and Clara settled for a compromise—they would support her financially, but in every other way, they would pretend she did not exist.

The other families understood this unspoken arrangement. After all, none among them had ever intended to bear twins. The concept of controlling the number of children in a single pregnancy was an impossibility, but that did not temper Darius’ resentment. Venus was not a child that anyone planned for or wanted.

At the heart of the grand gathering, Clara basked in the glow of admiration. Dressed in shimmering jewels, her attire was more daring than usual, drawing every eye in the room. She lived for attention, for the lingering glances that reaffirmed her beauty. Venus, with her ethereal features, was a threat Clara refused to acknowledge. The thought of being out-shined by her own daughter was intolerable.

Clara had long mastered the art of sidelining Venus. It required little effort when Darius cared so little, and the rest of the families had too much going on in their own lives to worry about the kid of someone else. They ensured Venus remained an outsider, a presence tolerated but never embraced.

In earlier years, Venus drifted through the grand parties and opulent shopping districts, she couldn’t help but notice the tender bonds between other mothers and daughters—the shared laughter, the quiet companionship. The sight had once filled her with sorrow, but in time, she found solace in her independence. She alone chose what to wear, how to present herself. Her sense of style was impeccable, turning heads wherever she went.

And Clara noticed.

Jealousy festered in her heart, spurring her to greater acts of theatrics to reclaim the spotlight. Once, in a moment of audacious desperation, Clara had let her robes fall from her body before a stunned audience, basking in the scandalous attention that followed. It was a battle Venus had grown weary of fighting. No matter how she tried to fade into the background, her mother always felt the need to push her further into the ground.

Eventually, Venus surrendered. She traded her bold wardrobe for plain, unremarkable fabrics. It was easier to disappear. Easier to let Clara have her victory in a battle Venus wasn’t even fighting.

Now, as she moved through the party, she embraced her invisibility, weaving between conversations unnoticed. Whispers filled the air, disapproving murmurs directed at her mother.

"Did you see what she's wearing? Scandalous."

"She is so obvious."

"She isn’t even that beautiful."

Venus smirked to herself. Clara had won the battle, but Venus had won the war—her mother’s desperate antics were beginning to tire the people she sought to impress.

Yet Venus was not immune to scrutiny. To some, she was a ghost; to others, a pretty doll with no real worth.

Passing a group of men, Venus heard their hushed tones unnoticed.

"There are those in the seven I wouldn’t mind a quiet moment with," one said, his tone laced with amusement.

Another chuckled. "With who? There isn’t a single one of them who would keep a secret."

A third, more somber, added, "There are those of the seven we wouldn’t want to be seen with."

Venus knew they meant her. She was beautiful enough to be desired, but never enough to be openly wanted. The realization, though long accepted, still stung.

Elsewhere, Mohsin thrived in the glow of admiration, of all those around him. Casta his main admirer. He relished her attention, but he would never show any real affection back to her.

For him, Casta was too easy, too simple.

The evening unfolded as all others had before it, the only difference is the heirs of the seven families were unaware of the change looming on the horizon.

And in the midst of it all, Venus remained unseen, a shadow collecting secrets in the golden glow of candlelight.

In the midst of the bustling party, Venus found a strange comfort in being overlooked. She lingered at the edges of conversations, listening closely though she was never allowed to take part. Long ago, she had learned to pretend she was one of the speakers—imagining her voice woven among theirs. It was the only way she could feel like she belonged to anything at all.

Some individuals Venus could not get close to without detection most all the time.

Among them were Alala and her father, Ethan. Experts in security and defense, they maintained a constant, vigilant watch over the room, even detecting the presence of someone as inconspicuous as Venus. Her own father, Darius, was different—his reaction to Venus was always one of instinctual disgust. He could sense when she was near, his revulsion unwavering. The only moments of respite she found were when a physical barrier, such as a wall, door, or window, stood between them.

Venus discreetly observed Alala and her father, who seemed engaged in yet another serious conversation. It always seemed as though they were locked in a stern discussion, regardless of the occasion. Alala, ever watchful, stood near her father, her posture disciplined, her expression unreadable. Everyone knew that, at any given moment, her father might launch an attack—a test of her reflexes and readiness. These unpredictable assessments weren’t limited to training halls; they could happen anywhere, even here, in the middle of an extravagant gala.

Without warning, Alala’s father hurled a small knife toward her back as she turned away. With practiced ease, Alala caught the blade midair, her hand moving instinctively. In a fluid motion, she sent it back toward him. He deflected it effortlessly, letting it clatter to the floor. Their eyes met for the briefest moment—a silent exchange of understanding—before both moved on as if nothing had happened.

Venus moved through the crowd with careful precision, her steps perfectly aligning with Alala’s as the other girl made her way toward the exit of the main entertainment hall. Though Venus could tell Alala was seeking solitude, she remained a half step behind, silently following. She wasn’t sure what she would say, or if she would say anything at all—she only knew she wanted to see if Alala was okay.

The constant pressure, the unwavering vigilance, the expectations placed upon her—it was all beginning to wear Alala down. Even the strongest walls eventually cracked under enough strain. In a world where she could best any man in combat, she found herself at a loss in matters of the heart. Love was an impossibility, an elusive dream. All she longed for was something simple. Someone to hold her, to cherish her, to offer affection without suspicion.

Outside on the empty terrace, Alala suddenly stopped, her focus dropping to her hands. Venus drew nearer, straining to see in the moonlit patio. Only when she was close enough did she notice—Alala was bleeding.

"He got me this time. He knows it too," Alala muttered, frustration laced in her tone.

Venus hesitated for a moment before offering sincerely, "I'm sorry. Do you want help cleaning it up?" She reached out toward Alala's injured hand.

The response was immediate. Alala smacked Venus’s hand away with a sharp motion.

"No," she snapped, her voice edged with irritation. "I don't need help, especially not from you."

Venus understood. Accepting help from her would be lowering herself—stooping to Venus’s level. Alala’s pride wouldn’t allow it.

Venus had known Alala her whole life, and she was well aware of her fiercely independent nature. Alala had lost her mother before she was old enough to remember her, growing up with a father who showed his love through discipline rather than warmth. Venus had watched other mothers dote on their daughters, had seen how they offered affection and kindness in ways Clara never had. Alala had noticed the contrast, too. She had witnessed Clara's disdain for Venus, but that knowledge had never softened how she treated her.

"How can you stand being in that room?" Alala asked suddenly. "With all those people treating you like garbage?" There was no pity in her voice, only frustration. "I hate it in there, and they don’t despise me the way they do you."

The words were heavy, but Alala swallowed any hint of vulnerability. She had never been allowed to cry freely, never given the space to express sadness. Her father had ensured that. Emotions had no place in combat.

Venus remained silent. Some things had no answers. Something people would never understand until they have to face it themselves firsthand.

Alala pulled a strip of cloth from under her sleeve and wrapped it around her hand with practiced efficiency, her face devoid of emotion. Pain meant nothing to her.

"I want to wear a pretty dress," Alala admitted after a pause, her voice softer. "Even a simple one like yours. I want my father to hug me without wondering if he has a knife at my back." Her shoulders slumped slightly, betraying exhaustion. "Is that too much to ask for?"

Venus regarded her carefully. Then, after a moment, she replied, "Is it too much for my parents to be indifferent to me instead of hating me?"

Alala stiffened. The difference in being hated versus just being something forgotten. She had never considered Venus’s life from that angle before. She had spent years resenting her own father’s inability to show affection, yet she had never once thought about how much worse it could be.

"I never thought of it like that," she admitted. And then, after a moment of hesitation, "I'm sorry."

Venus blinked. No one had ever apologized to her before. No one had acknowledged what she endured, let alone admitted it was wrong.

The weight of it hit her all at once.

Her chest tightened, her breath caught, and suddenly, tears streamed down her face. She didn’t sob or wail, but the sheer force of emotion was enough to make breathing difficult.

Alala, unaccustomed to such stillness from people, glanced at Venus—and for the first time, truly saw her.

The grief etched across Venus’s face was startling, more raw than Alala had anticipated. Venus had always been there, existing on the sidelines, unimportant. And now, in front of her, she looked like a woman. An actual person with feelings.

Alala shifted awkwardly. She was not equipped for this. Venus was not someone to bother worrying about. She couldn’t see the girl as anything more than she has been.

"I'll leave you alone," she muttered, standing. Her head remained level, always aware of her surroundings, but there was an unfamiliar weight in her voice. With that, she walked away, leaving Venus behind—alone with her sadness.

Venus remained still, swallowed by the shadows. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, unseen.

On the other side of the bushes, a pair of feet moved closer to Venus. Just beyond the patio, two men spoke in hushed voices, their words carrying across the quiet night, reaching her where she sat hidden.

"You know those two can’t marry," came a sharp, angry voice. It was unmistakably Kenshin’s father, Iyashin.

The second voice, calmer but full of authority, belonged to Darius. "Whose fault is that? The children won’t be burdened by the truth unless we choose to reveal it. If Kenshin has no other option but to wed her, then perhaps he should."

Venus strained to hear more, every nerve in her body on edge.

"This is madness," Iyashin spat. "They are siblings, and there’s no way around it. Moreover, if Kenshin fails to meet the family’s standards, I won’t let him inherit. I’ll find an alternative."

A silence stretched between them, thick with tension.

Then Venus heard Iyashin walking away, his footsteps striking the ground with purpose.

Darius hesitated. Then, almost too softly, he called after him, "You wouldn’t. Not her."

The second set of footsteps followed.

Venus remained frozen in place, her heart pounding. The weight of their words settled over her; confused by their words.