Vseslav let out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing at his temple. "You're an absolute nightmare."
Caesar simply smiled, and got up.
Vseslav was about to rub his temples in frustration when both of his phones suddenly rang at the same time. He froze, eyes narrowing as he pulled them out—both devices flashing the same caller ID. A chill crawled up his spine.
He wasn't stupid.
This only meant one thing.
He answered one of them, his voice sharp. "Who is this?"
Static crackled on the other end before a distorted voice replied, "Still slow, I see."
Vseslav's grip on the phones tightened. His eyes flicked up, and just as he expected—Caesar was sitting there, watching him. Smirking.
"You," Vseslav exhaled, his tone dangerously low.
Caesar's smirk widened. He didn't even try to hide it. His blue eyes gleamed with amusement, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. "Don't look at me like that, brat. You should be thanking me."
"For what?" Vseslav scoffed. "Spying on your own family member? Hacking into my calls?" He gestured at the two ringing devices in his hands. "This is illegal, you know. I could sue you for intrusion of privacy."
Caesar let out a dramatic gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "Oh no. How terrifying," he said mockingly, eyes dancing with mischief. "What ever will I do if my big brother takes me to court?"
Vseslav clenched his jaw, glaring daggers at him.
Caesar stood up lazily, stretching his arms as he walked toward the door. He stopped just before stepping out, tilting his head slightly over his shoulder. "Oh," he said, his smirk deepening, "greet Yaroslav for me."
And with that, he stepped out, leaving Vseslav gripping his phones, teeth grinding in frustration.
Caesar let out a long, drawn-out sigh as he walked toward his car. "This is so boring," he muttered under his breath, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat. He wasn't used to things being so... slow. Chaos was his natural state, but today, there was nothing to destroy, nothing to manipulate, nothing to kill. How dull.
ROMANOV PALACE
The deep purr of Caesar's Rolls-Royce Boat Tail echoed through the grand estate as he pulled up to the Romanov Palace. The vehicle's sleek, obsidian-black exterior gleamed under the afternoon sun, an undeniable symbol of excess and dominance. With a bored sigh, he shifted into park and tossed the keys toward a waiting guard without sparing him a glance.
"Where's my mother?" he asked lazily.
"In the garden, Your Highness," the guard responded with a bow.
Caesar didn't acknowledge him further, already making his way toward the gardens, hands shoved into the pockets of his tailored slacks.
The palace grounds were immaculate, as always. Ivory stone pathways wound through the landscape, flanked by towering hedges trimmed to perfection. Golden fountains spilled crystal-clear water into wide marble basins, and the scent of freshly bloomed roses mixed with the crisp, cool breeze. It was all pristine—beautiful even—but Caesar had long since grown bored of such extravagance.
Then, he spotted her.
Seraphina Romanov.
His mother stood amidst a sea of blood-red camellias, a delicate watering can in one hand, the other lightly brushing against the petals of a nearby bloom. Unlike the dark-haired women of the Romanov line, she was different. Ethereal. Her long, wavy blonde hair cascaded down her back in shimmering waves, the color so pale it almost seemed silver under the sunlight. And her eyes—icy blue, piercing, and unreadable—were a perfect mirror of Caesar's own.
She exuded an effortless regality, a presence that demanded both reverence and fear.
Caesar smirked as he approached. "Since when did watering flowers become your hobby?"
Seraphina didn't look up immediately. She simply tilted the watering can slightly, letting the water spill over the dark soil before finally meeting his gaze.
"I don't know," she mused, lips curving in amusement. "I've got no killings to do, so I decided to water these crops."
Caesar let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Crops? You're calling these expensive, delicate flowers 'crops' now?"
Seraphina arched a perfectly shaped brow. "They're living things. They grow. I might as well treat them like livestock."
Caesar smirked, stepping closer. "And here I thought my mother had turned soft."
Seraphina scoffed, finally setting the watering can down. She crossed her arms over her chest, the expensive fabric of her ivory silk dress shifting with the motion. "Soft?" she echoed, tilting her head slightly. "Don't be ridiculous, my dear. Now, won't you come give your mother a hug?"
Without hesitation, Caesar strode forward and wrapped his arms around her, effortlessly lifting her off the ground as if she weighed nothing. Seraphina let out a light laugh, though she made no effort to stop him.
"Beautiful as ever, Mom," Caesar murmured with a chuckle, burying his face into her shoulder.
Seraphina rolled her eyes but placed a light kiss on his temple. "I missed you too, son."
Caesar finally set her down, but not before twirling her once for good measure. She swatted at his chest playfully. "Honestly, you act like a child sometimes."
"Only with you," Caesar admitted, grinning.
Seraphina gave him a pointed look before sighing, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Tell me, moya lyubov'… what sort of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?"
Caesar smirked. "Now, why would you assume I've gotten into trouble?"
Seraphina arched a brow. "Because I know you."
Caesar chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, let's just say… certain people are getting too curious about things that don't concern them."
Seraphina sighed, turning away slightly as she looked over her flourishing garden. "And did you handle it?"
Caesar tilted his head, watching her closely. "What kind of son do you take me for, Mother?"
Seraphina let out a soft, knowing laugh. "A troublesome one."
Caesar grinned, stepping closer, lowering his voice. "Well, would you be proud if I told you I made sure they'll never ask questions again?"
Seraphina turned to face him fully now, her lips curling into an approving smile. "That's my boy."
The palace was its usual blend of grandeur and suffocating tradition—golden chandeliers dripping with crystals, walls lined with centuries-old portraits of brooding emperors and tragic queens, and floors polished to the point where your reflection looked back smugly. But Caesar? Caesar wasn't here to marvel at ancestral greatness. He had just finished a somewhat boring conversation with his mother in the gardens and decided, as always on a whim, to barge into someone else's space. This time: Grandpa's royal boudoir.
With the swagger of a man who feared absolutely nothing—not even God—Caesar shoved open the heavy doors with both arms.
"GRANDPAAA!" he declared like a drama prince walking onto a stage, ready for applause.
What he was not ready for… was the very graphic scene unfolding before him.
There, tangled in satin sheets and flushed with heat, was his grandfather—the freaking Emperor of the realm—deep in what could only be described as "a very compromising moment" with a young male servant.
Caesar paused. His eyes blinked once.
Then again.
Then he said, "Oh."
Flat. Emotionless. Not a single ounce of surprise.
A beat passed.
Then a cheeky, sideways grin curled on his lips as he slowly stepped backward, like he was leaving a crime scene.
"Wait ..."
"Take your time, Grandpa. I shall come later," he added smoothly, bowing dramatically, and shut the door behind him with the speed of someone trying not to hurl.
Once outside, he let out a deep, amused laugh that echoed through the hallway.
"Well, that's a sight I can never unsee. Might need therapy. Or bleach. Probably both."
Brushing imaginary dust off his clothe, Caesar strolled down the corridor with his signature devil-may-care strut, his eyes darting around lazily as he scanned for his next victim—er, family member.
Servants passing by bowed quickly, terrified of both disrespecting him and making eye contact.
He pointed at one of them, a trembling footman barely older than a teen.
"Hey you, have you seen my brother?" Caesar asked, voice dipped in silk but eyes glinting with mischief.
The poor servant nearly fainted.
"Y-Your Highness, yes. He's in the study."
"Good boy." Caesar patted the servant on the head like a dog before walking off like he owned the entire world—which, let's be real, he might as well have.
Without knocking, of course, Caesar stormed into the study.
"BROTHERRRR!!" he yelled with theatrical glee, arms wide like he was about to twirl into a musical number.
Inside, Octavian was mid-meeting with two serious-looking nobles, papers spread across the desk, wine untouched beside him. His icy blue eyes flicked up sharply as Caesar entered like a tornado in boots.
The two men immediately stood and bowed, muttering excuses before speed-walking out of the room like the devil was chasing them. Because in a way, he was.
Octavian sighed—deep, long, the sigh of a man who had truly been through it.
He turned to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a generous glass, and downed half of it in one go. Caesar, of course, was already grinning like a fox with a mouth full of feathers.
"Ever heard of knocking, Caesar?" Octavian asked, setting the glass down with a clink.
"Hmm… Nope. Sounds illegal." Caesar replied casually, already taking the glass and finishing the rest like it was his birthright.
"I came to see my big brother. Why? Am I not welcome?"
His voice dropped to a mock pout as he leaned forward, eyes glittering with that dangerous mix of charm and chaos.
Octavian, the ever-poised Alpha, looked up at him with pure exhaustion and something bordering on reluctant affection.
Before he could speak again, Caesar moved forward and hugged him.
Just like that. No warning. No permission.
Strong arms wrapped around his twin's frame, holding tight—not in the awkward way most men hug—but like someone anchoring themselves to the one thing in the world that mattered.
"I missed you so much," Caesar murmured, his tone low and shockingly sincere.
Octavian froze.
Because for all the storms Caesar brought, all the scandal, all the reckless pride and glittering danger—when it came to Octavian, none of it was fake.
Caesar would rather set fire to the empire than let anyone lay a hand on his twin.
He stayed still for a moment. Silent.
Then finally… he exhaled.
"Idiot," he muttered under his breath.
But his hands rose anyway—hesitant, then sure—and gripped the back of Caesar's coat, returning the hug.
Their foreheads met, breath mingling, two sides of the same wicked coin.
Twins born from prophecy. One light. One shadow.
Two devils draped in royal silk.
"Don't cause too much trouble," Octavian murmured.
Caesar smirked. "No promises."
And together, they stood in the quiet study—the empire's favorite disasters, reunited.
The pathways of the imperial palace, lined with lifelike marble statues of dead emperors and empresses long turned to dust, glistened under the golden afternoon sun. The light caught on the gilded edges of ancient swords, proud chins, and stoic expressions forever frozen in time. Birds chirped lazily in the trimmed hedges while the scent of blooming white roses filled the air. Every inch of the gardens screamed grandeur and power—opulence woven into nature.
Yet, for Caesar and Octavian, it was just Tuesday.
They strolled side by side, tall and commanding, twin silhouettes dressed in dark royal coats that swayed like cloaks behind them. Their boot heels clacked rhythmically against the polished cobblestone paths. To onlookers, they looked like mirrored gods in motion—one all wicked charm, the other sheer lethal precision.
"I heard about your coronation next 2 month," Caesar said, his tone playful, as if commenting on the weather. His voice held a sharp, teasing undercurrent that always hinted at chaos.
Octavian didn't look at him.
"Hmm. Yeah. You heard right. Mama told you?" His voice was cool, controlled—as if he were constantly calculating five moves ahead. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, posture perfect, jaw clenched just enough to betray mild irritation.
Caesar chuckled.
"Of course. Who else would? She's practically buzzing with plans. I even think she's trying to design your wedding outfit herself."
Octavian sighed. Long, tired.
"Great. Another royal circus."
Caesar's smirk widened.
"And your wedding—aww," he mock-gushed. "I knew this arranged marriage thing would come for you eventually. You're finally getting shackled, brother. How romantic."
Octavian stopped for half a beat before resuming pace, his expression deadpan.
"Have you forgotten you're also a prince, Caesar? You really think they're not lining someone up for you too?"
"Oh, I'm very aware," Caesar replied with a wink, tapping the side of his temple. "But the difference is—I'm not the crown prince. You are. You have to sit on the boring throne. You have to pop out heirs. You have to smile at foreign dignitaries and pretend you give a damn. Me? I get to vanish whenever I want."
Octavian stopped walking again, this time turning fully to face him.
His piercing blue eyes, colder than ice, narrowed.
Caesar grinned like the devil.
There was a long pause—until Octavian gave him that look.
The I'm-going-to-kill-you-but-mother-would-be-upset look.
Caesar only cackled.
"Be there," Octavian said flatly before turning and walking away again.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world!" Caesar called after him, practically skipping to catch up.
He leaned into Octavian's side, shoulder bumping his brother's stiff one.
"So serious all the time," he muttered. "Must be exhausting."
Octavian didn't respond.
That just made Caesar's mischief worse.
"By the way," he whispered, leaning close like they were co-conspirators plotting a coup, "I've never seen you bring anyone to bed. Are you really that unlucky in love, dearest brother? Or are you secretly married to the crown?"
And that was it.
Octavian's hand flew at him without hesitation.
Caesar ducked just in time, laughing so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Too slow!" he taunted, twirling around with a mock bow.
Octavian exhaled sharply, muttering something that sounded like, "Infuriating pest."
"I heard that!"
They fell into a rhythm again, their footsteps echoing through the garden. Despite their constant banter and the occasional attempted murder, there was comfort in their company—like soldiers trained to move as one.
Then, Octavian's voice lowered.
Calm. Measured. But it hit like a blow to the chest.
"I envy you."
Caesar stopped.
The laughter faded from his face.
"What?"
Octavian kept walking, gaze fixed on the palace looming ahead.
"You get to be free. You're the shadow. No responsibilities, no legacy. You slip through the cracks. You disappear. Me? I'm trapped. Every word I speak, every choice I make—it's scrutinized. I was never raised to be myself. I was raised to be perfect."
He turned to face the palace, his expression unreadable.
"One misstep, and Grandfather will toss me aside like a broken pawn."
Caesar was quiet for a moment. Then he stepped up beside him.
His voice, for once, was gentle.
"You're not a pawn, Octavian. You're the whole damn game."
Octavian scoffed, but something in his expression wavered.
Caesar sighed, then added with a smirk, "And, look, if you ever wanna swap roles—I'll take the crown, bed a few nobles, and ruin the empire in a week. Sound good?"
Octavian turned his head slowly.
"You would burn the empire to the ground before the first royal breakfast."
"Exactly! And it'd be so fun."
"It would be a disaster."
Caesar grinned, draping an arm over Octavian's shoulders.
"I know."
For a few heartbeats, the world around them went still. A breeze rustled through the trees. The scent of roses hung heavy in the air.
And then—
Octavian let out a breath that was almost, almost a laugh.
They walked in silence again.
But it was different now.
Two brothers—twins—standing on opposite ends of duty and desire. One bound by duty, the other dancing in freedom. One cloaked in expectations, the other cloaked in chaos.
Yet both born of the same blood.
The evil twins. Two sides of the same cursed coin.
And gods help anyone who stood in their way.