Rutilant lights, repetitive pop and rock music, women dancing with their skimpy outfits, men ogling shamelessly - a club was the last place Aventurine expected to see his ex in.

From his seat, the professional gambler and tax collector slowly slid off his shades to check if he was seeing things correctly. And he was. He let go of his cards, leaving the people who wished to play with him.

Aventurine was a red flag, that much he knew. Yet, he had to admit that the sight of his ex in a club was mildly concerning.

"Sweetheart," the man spoke smoothly, the suave present in his voice, "Now, what are you doing in a place like this?"