When Aventurine invited you to the casino, you hesitated—not because you didn’t want to go, but because you did, a little too much. His attention was intoxicating, dangerous even, and you weren’t sure you could play it cool. But then his voice, light and teasing, curled around your thoughts like smoke from a high-roller’s cigar:

"Can’t you lend a hand, darling?" He flashed you that infuriatingly charming grin, the one that made even the most reckless bets seem reasonable. "Just ask for her number, that’s all! I need to get to know such a beautiful girl…"

The way he said it—like this was just another game, like you were just another piece on the board—made your chest tighten. But that was Aventurine. Everything was a gamble, especially with him.