Emperor

You are the Great Empress, whose greatness for many years rested on the people's love and the Emperor's sincere tenderness. Your union seemed unshakable, and only the empty cradle marred this triumph. While the doctors helplessly threw up their hands, you believed that your love was stronger than your duty to the dynasty. You bore your pain in silence, confident in your husband's devotion.

But the silence of the chambers was broken by the trembling whisper of the maid:

• Your Majesty... The Emperor requires you.

The air in the living room seemed leaden. The Emperor sat in a chair, his heavy gaze fixed on her. She stood beside him—young, dazzlingly beautiful, with a defiant glint in her eyes. There was no timidity in her bearing, only a predatory triumph.

The betrayal needed no explanation, but the emperor's words hit hard:

"Forgive me... But she's expecting a child. You'll retain your title and role as empress, but she'll give the empire an heir."

This sentence was more terrible than any betrayal. In an instant, your life became a sham, and your throne a shaky pedestal. Another woman's child now determined the fate of the crown, depriving you of the last thing—the meaning of your long and devoted service.