The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Ella POV

One word: speechless. I couldn’t have brought such bad luck, could I? No, surely not. Right? I mean, how does one person’s presence cause that kind of catastrophe? Okay, let me start from the beginning.

I woke up early today. No, not for the game—though now I wish I’d just stayed in bed—but for an appointment. It started like any other—except it wasn’t. It was one of those rare, important days that held the potential to shift the trajectory of my entire life. The kind of day where every detail matters and every second feels weighted with purpose. It was an important one. I couldn’t afford to mess it up. After all, I’m trying to build my name in the business world, and anything below excellence? That’s not me. I was meeting with the CEO of Black Empire to finalize and sign the contract that would officially make me the second-largest shareholder of the company. Yep, you read that right. Me.

I woke up early, which is saying something because mornings and I have a mutual dislike for each other. But today, I couldn’t afford to be late. My name—my reputation—was on the line, and I wasn’t about to give anyone an excuse to doubt my competence.

Fast forward to me standing in front of my closet. Thank God I’d snuck in some business-worthy outfits,I dressed the part, of course. No hoodies or sweatpants today. Instead, I opted for a sleek black blazer paired with tailored trousers and a silk blouse. My hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and I kept my makeup minimal—just enough to look polished and professional. The transformation was stark, even to me, but I needed to exude confidence and capability. The goal? To seal the deal without giving away my identity as the Kingsley heir.

The meeting went better than expected. The last time I pitched my proposal, the shareholders were absolutely smitten. They practically begged me to let them in on my project, even offering a shareholding position to sweeten the deal. Today was no different. They’d seen the potential for massive investment and long-term profits, and they’d agreed to grant me shares that made my position in the company more than symbolic. Of course, it hadn’t hurt that I’d subtly hinted the Kingsley Empire Enterprises—yes, my father’s company—was also interested in the project. That little nudge? It had them scrambling to outdo the competition.

And here I was, about to sign a contract that would give me a significant stake in one of Kingsley’s biggest rivals. The competition had driven them to offer me a sweeter deal than they might have otherwise. I knew my father would blow a fuse if he ever found out I’d given a significant edge to one of his company’s biggest competitors, but that was a problem for future Ella.

The meeting went smoothly. Too smoothly, honestly. The CEO was acting way too nice. And not the good kind of nice. The kind that screamed ulterior motives. I could practically see him calculating how to cozy up to me, probably hoping I was just some clueless girl who didn’t understand the intricacies of the business world. Spoiler alert: he was wrong.

The CEO, whose name I’d barely registered but whose lingering glances I couldn’t ignore, offered to walk me out of the building. Jake, I think? Or maybe Jack? Either way, his behavior set off all kinds of alarms. He was too nice, like he thought he could charm me into lowering my guard or handing over more control than I intended. Not happening. When he offered to walk me out, I felt a strong urge to tell him off. But before I could say anything, his assistant swooped in, saving me from an awkward goodbye by reminding him of another meeting. Bless her. Jake might have thought he was playing chess, but I was already three moves ahead. I left the office with the contract signed, my shares secured, and my independence intact. A win all around.

By the time I left their building, it was still early. And that’s when the thought hit me: maybe I could catch the boys’ game. I had some time to kill, and despite everything, I kind of wanted to see Jason play.

I knew I’d have to change first, though. There was no way I’d show up at a campus game looking like I’d just stepped out of a corporate boardroom. Back at my apartment, I swapped my professional attire for my usual hoodie, sweatpants, and mask. Perfect disguise. By the time I arrived at the campus gym, just as the game started. I slipped into the last row of bleachers, blending into the crowd. Pulling my hoodie low and settling in. No one noticed me. It was perfect. Or so I thought.

At first, I just watched quietly. Jason was doing great—he’d already scored three points for the team. Even with my limited knowledge of basketball, I could tell he was doing well. But then he spotted me. His face lit up, and he waved. No, no, no, I thought, sinking lower into my seat. My heart sank further when Max joined in, yelling my name like a kid trying to get his mom’s attention at a crowded store. Mortified, I Pulled my hood lower and adjusting my mask, I pretended not to notice them. My heart was racing, though, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the embarrassment or something else entirely.

Stupid, I thought to myself. Why did I come here? I’d wanted to show support, sure, but not at the cost of this kind of attention. I just wanted to watch quietly and leave unnoticed.

The game resumed, but something about Jason’s demeanor changed. He kept glancing in my direction, his focus clearly split. He wasn’t as focused as he had been before. He kept glancing my way, like he was trying to gauge my reaction or maybe just confirm that I was still there. I groaned internally. Why couldn’t he just concentrate on the game?

The match was intense. The teams were tied, and the crowd was on edge. The next point would decide the winner. Just then, Jason got the ball. The crowd around me erupted in cheers and screams. All eyes were on Jason as he had the ball. The gym went silent, anticipation hanging in the air. I held my breath, watching as he moved with precision and confidence toward the basket. He shot—

...And the wrong team erupted in cheers.

Wait. What? The realization hit me like a truck. Jason had scored in the opponent’s basket. I blinked, stunned, as groans rippled through the home crowd. I’d seen enough basketball to know this was bad. Very bad.

Instead of shooting at the opponent’s hoop, he aimed for his own team’s basket.

I blinked, sure I was seeing things. But no, he shot the ball straight into the wrong basket.

The opposing team erupted in cheers, and the groans from my side of the bleachers were deafening. Jason had just handed them the win.

My stomach churned as the weight of what had just happened sank in. Had I brought this bad luck? Was my presence a distraction? Jason’s gaze darted toward me one last time before he crumpled to the floor,

To make matters worse, he landed awkwardly, clutching his ankle as he hit the floor.

The paramedics rushed to him, and the game was officially over. I stayed glued to my seat, completely frozen.

"It’s my fault," I muttered under my breath, guilt gnawing at me. I’d come here hoping to support him, but instead, I’d been a catalyst for disaster. Jason had been so focused on impressing me that he’d made a mistake—a huge one. And now he was hurt.

I debated whether to leave or stay. Part of me wanted to rush to his side, but what would I say? Sorry for ruining your game? Sorry for being the reason you twisted your ankle? My brain was a whirlwind of self-blame and doubt. In the end, I stayed rooted to my seat, watching as his team gathered around him, their faces a mix of concern and disappointment. Even from a distance, I could see the frustration etched into Jason’s features.

When the game finally ended, our school’s team trudged off the court, defeated. Jason’s teammates helped him to the locker room, and I took that as my cue to leave. I slipped out quietly, hoping to avoid being seen. My heart felt heavy, and my thoughts were a chaotic mess. I’d never wanted to be a distraction or a source of stress for anyone, least of all Jason.

Back at my apartment, I changed out of my hoodie and into something more comfortable. The events of the day replayed in my mind like a bad movie. My phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number, probably Jason’s teammates organizing a post-game hangout or something. I ignored it, too drained to engage.

I wanted to text Jason. Something, anything. A simple "good night" or "good luck with your recovery." But every time I typed out a message, I deleted it. The words felt hollow, and I wasn’t sure if he’d even want to hear from me. In the end, I set my phone down, deciding against it.

As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, a single thought looped in my head: I should have stayed away. Maybe then, none of this would have happened. Maybe Jason would have stayed focused, and his team would have won. Maybe...

Sleep eventually claimed me, but not before guilt wrapped its heavy arms around me, pulling me into restless dreams filled with missed shots and disappointed faces.