Page 4 of Love is a Game

And he doesn’t stop there.

Next, he rails against the industry leaders who hoard intellectual property for profit instead of sharing open-source data that could revolutionize eco-materials and practices.

Then comes another well-aimed blow.

“The seamstresses, tailors, beaders, weavers, and pattern-makers who bring your exclusive designs to life—can they afford a single piece of the clothing they produce?” he demands. “Without economical fashion options, where exactly do your employees get to shop?”

The room shifts uneasily, but Tuck still isn’t done. He gestures toward the event sponsor’s banner—one of the biggest soda companies in the world.

“And let’s not forget the generous supporter of this entire event,” he says, oozing sarcasm. “The world’s top plastic polluter. Nowthat’swhat I call hypocrisy.”

Mic drop.

The audience is still hanging on the threads of Tuck’s speech when the double doors at the back of the room crash open. I assume it’s some noisy latecomers with spectacularly bad timing. Until I hear the chants.

“Killer fashion! Fashion Kills!”

A dozen or more protesters surge in, holding signs proclaiming: “Eco NOT Ego”, “No Fashion on a Dead Planet”, and “Fashion Shouldn’t Cost the Earth!” while wheeling in what looks like an oversized laundry bin.

Gasps and shrieks ripple through the audience. Faces blanch and heads swivel, horrified.

Meanwhile, Tuck seems relatively unbothered, leaning casually against the podium like he’s watching a street performance on a lazy afternoon.

At the center of the drama, the leader of the group—a young woman in combat boots and a bright green jumpsuit—steps forward, fury radiating from her voice. “This is thetrue costof fashion!” she bellows.

Then the bin is ripped open. Tattered garments streaked blood-red, fabric scraps, and shredded textiles go flying, raining down on the audience like grotesque confetti. Placards unfurl, plastered with haunting images of sweatshop workers drenched with exhaustion. The prestigious, coiffed guests collectively recoil, clutching pearls, programs, and luxury handbags.

And then it happens—a cloud of red and black powder bursts into the air, exploding across the room. The colored dust settles onto tailored suits and designer gowns, eliciting more panicked shrieks.

“Let’s go, Pen.” Tuck swiftly grabs my hand and tugs me toward the wings.

Ingrid is already way ahead of us as I stumble after Tuck, half-distracted by what’s unfolding behind us. Security is chasing the protesters, and the audience surges toward the exits in panic.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” I say as we get clear of the turmoil. “I had a great rebuttal planned where I compare the carbon emissions of your suit to forest fires in the Amazon.”

Tuck smirks as he ponders my clothing. “Yeah, well, not everyone’s talented enough to remaster novelty toys and food scraps into an entire outfit.”

Just as I’m musing how Tuck’s fine physique might look in one of the upcycled open-weave shirts from my latest collection, a security guard ushers us into the dressing room.

“It’s best if you stay put until we give the all-clear,” he says firmly.

“It’s all so gruesome.” I sigh as we get settled, and I scroll through live streams of the protesters’ invasion. “Did you feel the vibe out there? Scary.”

Tuck shrugs. “The organizers will probably love the extra publicity. Then they’ll claim it was always their intention to spotlight the ethical challenges of the industry.”

“Well, as long as no one gets hurt.” I frown at the distorted images on my feed. “That’s a lot of spiked stilettos and sharp-limbed bodies clamoring for the doors.”

I put down my phone and reach for a bottle of water. “How did those protesters even get inside?” I wonder. “It’s really bizarre…just like my whole week, really.”

“How’s that?” Tuck queries.

“Just…lots of strange incidents and weird energy.”

Tuck puffs a burst of air. “This week? Pen, you’re a magnet for weird energy. Weird is like oxygen for you.”

“I’m serious!” I shove his broad shoulder. “Just yesterday, I got stuck in traffic because of abee swarmattached to a traffic light. They had to call in actual beekeepers to clear it! Then, the wiring at my studio went haywire and shorted out half the block. And to top it off, I ran intoBenat the fucking convenience store, buying Cup Noodles! So random. I’m telling you, something’s up; things are way out of alignment for me.”

“Ben?” Tuck’s head jerks at the mention of my ex-boyfriend. “Damn, Penelope, you just slip that in after the bees and electrical problem? After he basically stalked you when you ended it?”

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