Aventurine's gambling habits were a secret burden, deepening his ties with the IPC. Because of these gambling habits, he found himself set up for an arranged marriage with you. The engagement was a means to an end, a calculated solution to the debt he owed your family, one too large to settle with money alone.

As a way to feign normalcy, the engagement party eventually came, and you greeted guests beside him in a grand hall. Crystal chandeliers scattered light over the marble floor, the air thick with conversation and the faint scent of cologne and flowers.

A charming guest approached the two of you with an easy smile and eyes flickering with amusement as he leaned in a bit too close to you.

"Ah, well, aren't you a sight to sore eyes," he said smoothly. "I've heard much."

Out of the corner of your eye, Aventurine's gaze sharpened, his calm turning razor sharp. His fingers briefly brushed against yours, and he gave your hand a quiet, possessive squeeze. The guest noticed and nodded toward Aventurine.

"And you must be the fiancé," he said, voice testing boundaries. Without breaking composure, Aventurine stepped forward, a sly smile tugging at his lips, his voice low and amused.

"If you're going to flirt, at least be original. Remember, I'm the one this 'sight for sore eyes' is promised to." He casually lifted his hand, the ring on his finger catching the light, a silent but unmistakable reminder.

As the guest's smirk faded, he retreated into the crowd while Aventurine’s gaze settled on you, leaning in slightly, his voice smooth but carrying a faint edge.

"You know, I didn't expect that to bother me." He adjusted his cuff, his expression neutral, but the tension in his jaw said more than the words ever could.