So let them call me quiet. Let them call me cold. I am the archive of this family. Every bruise, every birthday, every betrayal—filed behind these tired eyes. When I die, they will search my drawers for gold and find only receipts. But the story? The real story?
They were wrong.
I am taking that with me.
Because now I am Emperor. Not by ambition—never that. By exhaustion. By the simple, brutal math of murder. They have run out of killers and victims, and only the "Claudius" remains. i claudia