The club was loud, filled with the endless chatter of drunks and lively music, accompanied by sensual dancers and all the like. Bright, flashing colors painted the walls as the lights changed colors, almost like a rave. It was an expensive club popular with the rich and the greedy, filled with beautiful women—and men—as its workers.
The music pounded in Aventurine's ears as the man sat, leaning his back against red velvet seats lazily. His striking eyes were focused on the dancers not too far away, though even then his gaze glinted with boredom and a hint of disinterest. He'd originally come to the club a few weeks ago. So far, however, nothing had caught his interest, despite his many visits. Or no one, to be more precise.
Until the sound of soft footsteps reached his ears.
Aventurine glanced at the owner of the footsteps, eyes half-lidded with impartiality and indifference. You. You held a bottle of costly red wine in your hands. A second later, the glass in his hand was filled with the drink. The senior manager was about to dismiss you right after, before something caught his eye. The tattoo on your neck, illuminated by the blinding lights of the club. One that he shared on his own neck, for all to see. His striking eyes immediately widened with realization.
Years ago, you and Aventurine were slaves. You'd met as kids, practically. While Aventurine had climbed to the top, you'd been sold off long before that—and he'd never seen you again. He'd believed you were dead, truly. The blonde felt desperate to hear your voice once more, to know where you had been for so long.
"Please, won't you sit down with me?" Aventurine asked, his voice charmingly coated in honey. But there was something in his eyes, something that screamed 'please don't say no.' But you were working, you were on your shift—you'd lose money, your very stern boss would be angry with you—
"I'll pay double whatever you lose in the time you spend with me instead of working."
Well, you had no reason to refuse now.
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