Tonight, however, there was a flicker of tension. Marcus had been distant, his phone buzzing with overseas mergers, and Elara had noticed.

“Put it away, Marcus,” Elara said softly, not unkindly. “The world won't end if you’re present for one night.”

And as the city lights twinkled like fallen stars, they all knew she was right.

“The empire is nothing if the throne room is empty,” Toochi whispered, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek before turning to Julian. “And Julian, stop trying to provoke him. We’re here to celebrate the gallery opening, not start a civil war.”

When the music shifted to a slower, more melodic tempo, Marcus stood and offered a hand to Toochi, while Julian extended his to Elara. They moved to the private edge of the balcony overlooking the city lights.

Toochi took her seat at the center of the velvet booth, flanked by Marcus, whose steady hand rested protectively on the small of her back, and Elara, whose gaze was as sharp as the diamonds at her throat. Across from them sat Julian, the wildcard of the quartet, pouring a round of vintage champagne with a smirk that promised trouble.