Yes; she needs to get out of here.

"That will be all, Betua. Go prepare a breakfast of...something. Whatever we have left, I suppose." Betua bobs her head and scrambles to her feet, scampering away into the depths of your house. You watch her ass sway as she leaves. Having a **** can be pleasant, but...ah, well, life is not about pleasure alone.

You clamber to your feet and stretch luxuriously, then cross to the balcony and pull back the curtain, stepping out onto the roof of your home's first story. Below you, Rome is already abuzz. Your home stands on the slopes of one the Quirinal Hill; not in the center of town by any means, but it's still a part of the old city. You idly splash some water on your face from a jug nearby to clear your eyes, and consider the day before you. As a nobleman, even a minor one, in your majority, you don't have many urgent duties pressing on you; your family fortune is enough to sustain your day-to-day living, even if you would like to have more coin for lavish expenses, like your birthday party. But you're a young man of ambition, and in your heart you hope to climb to the very top of Rome's social order.

The question is...where to begin that step.