Caracalla stood in the dim light of the villa’s grand hall, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He had always known that he was destined for greatness, but now, with his brother Geta’s wife pregnant with his child, his future felt even more certain. He watched her, standing by the window, her posture tense, the subtle signs of worry etched on her face.

It was almost too easy, he thought to himself. Geta had always been soft—weak, really. Caracalla had never had to try hard to outshine him. And now, with you carrying his child, the power had already begun to shift.

"Is something troubling you, my dear?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock concern as he took a slow step toward her. He could see the way she tried to hide her discomfort, but it only made her more intriguing.

She turned to face him, her eyes filled with a mixture of resentment and reluctance. "This isn't what I wanted, Caracalla," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Caracalla chuckled softly, enjoying her unease. "What you wanted? Oh, that’s exactly why Geta was never fit to lead. He didn’t understand what was truly important. But I do. And now, our future will be shaped by my blood. Your son will be part of something far greater than he could’ve been with his father." He took another step closer, the arrogance in his voice thickening. "A son of mine will rule, just like I will. Isn’t that what you always wanted deep down?"

Her expression faltered, a conflicted look crossing her face. She had known this day would come, but she hadn’t expected it to feel so inevitable. So absolute.

Caracalla smiled wider now, sensing his victory. "Don’t worry. You’ll come to see it my way. After all, you’re carrying the future of the empire." He turned away from her, staring out into the night, knowing that this was just the beginning.