The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason POV

What were the odds? Seriously, what were the actual odds that out of all the girls in the world, I’d end up married—albeit temporarily—to Ella Kingsley? And not just married but under a contract she drafted herself, complete with ironclad clauses that screamed, "Do not fall for me, Jason King."

The fact that her father had no clue she was pulling one over on him was equal parts amusing and terrifying. Charles Kingsley wasn’t just anyone; he was a business tycoon, a strategist who could see through any loophole. Yet here we were, Ella and me, walking the tightrope of a one-year marriage contract while trying to keep up appearances.

I leaned back on my couch, staring at my phone as I reread her last text:

"The no-feelings clause stays. Non-negotiable."

I couldn’t help but laugh under my breath. Ella might think she had this all figured out, but she didn’t know me as well as she thought. Contracts could be revised, amended, renegotiated. And while she was busy trying to prove her independence to her father, I was playing the long game.

One year. That’s how long I had to win her over.

It wasn’t going to be easy—Ella was stubborn, sarcastic, and had a knack for shutting me down before I could get a word in edgewise. But she was also brilliant, passionate, and had this way of lighting up a room without even trying.

I grabbed my phone and typed out a message:

"You really think this one-year contract thing is going to work?"

Her response was almost immediate:

Ella: "It’s already working. You just need to signed it." Of course, I had will sign it. She hadn’t exactly given me a choice.

"Sure, I will sign it. But what happens when the year’s up? What’s your grand plan after that?"

There was a pause, longer than I expected. Finally, her reply came:

Ella: "Simple. I prove to my father that I can handle the Kingsley Empire on my own, we get an amicable divorce, and everyone moves on with their lives."

I couldn’t help but shake my head. She made it sound so clinical, like this wasn’t the start of a whirlwind that was bound to change everything.

"And you think your dad’s just going to let us walk away like that?"

Ella: "He won’t have a choice. By then, I’ll have proved myself."

Her confidence was admirable, but I wasn’t buying it. Charles Kingsley didn’t strike me as the kind of man to let go of his plans so easily.

Still, I had a year. A whole year to show Ella that maybe, just maybe, there was more to this than a business deal.

And if that meant playing by her rules for now, so be it.

But one thing was for sure: I wasn’t walking away from this without a fight.

And you’d think I’d be the one eager to get married, right? Nope. That title belonged to none other than my soon-to-be father-in-law, Charles Kingsley. The man was more enthusiastic about this wedding than I could have ever imagined. In fact, he was so determined to see this through that he personally oversaw the entire wedding preparations.

Venue? Booked. Guest list? Curated with precision. Invitations? Sent out faster than Ella could say, "Hold on, Dad!" It was like he feared Ella might change her mind if he didn’t act quickly.

Not that I was complaining. Honestly, I was just as eager to marry her. Maybe even more.

But the bride? Oh no, Ella wasn’t affected in the slightest—or at least she pretended not to be. While her father was running around orchestrating the wedding like it was the merger of the century, Ella was busy finalizing the "contract" and reminding me (yet again) about her infamous no-feelings clause.

There she was, cool as ever, reviewing spreadsheets one moment and arguing about cake flavors the next, as though this wasn’t her own wedding we were talking about.

The difference between us? I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot every time I thought about seeing her walk down the aisle. Meanwhile, she acted like this was just another business deal she had to get through before moving on to bigger and better things.

"Jason, you’re grinning again," Dylan pointed out during one of our calls. "You sure you’re not the one dreaming about the big white dress and flowers?"

"Shut up, Dylan," I muttered, though I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. "It’s not like that."

"Yeah, sure. Tell that to your face, man. You’re whipped, and the wedding hasn’t even happened yet."

He wasn’t wrong. I was whipped. But how could I not be? This wasn’t just any wedding—it was my wedding, and it was with Ella. Contract or not, I was determined to make it count.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room: Ella’s nonchalance. While I was counting down the days, she was treating this like a temporary arrangement—just another box to tick off on her path to proving herself to her father.

But if there was one thing I knew about Ella, it was that she could be convinced.

So, while her father was busy organizing the perfect wedding and Ella was busy pretending not to care, I was busy planning something else entirely.

This wasn’t just going to be a contract marriage. Not if I had anything to say about it. By the time this year was up, I’d make sure Ella Kingsley wouldn’t even think about walking away.

My parents had very different reactions when they heard the news about Ella and me. My dad? Over the moon. The moment I told him Ella Kingsley was the Ella Kingsley, his eyes practically lit up like it was Christmas morning.

"The Kingsley daughter?" he repeated, patting my back with so much enthusiasm I nearly fell forward. "Son, you’ve outdone yourself. You’ve chosen well—very well. You’re a lucky guy!"

Yeah, "chosen" wasn’t exactly the right word, but I didn’t bother correcting him. Let him think it was all part of my master plan.

My mom, on the other hand, was more interested in one thing: my happiness. She watched me carefully as I talked about the wedding and Ella, and when she noticed the ridiculous smile on my face every time her name came up, she didn’t say much—just nodded knowingly, like she already understood everything I hadn’t said.

"Jason," she said, her tone soft, "I can see how happy you are. That’s all that matters to me."

I almost sighed in relief. At least Mom wasn’t going to interrogate me about the whirlwind nature of it all. But then, of course, she had to start piecing things together.

"Wait," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Ella Kingsley. That name sounds familiar... Jason, is this the mysterious girl you brought to the LBJ party?"

My brain short-circuited for a moment. I hadn’t expected her to connect those dots so quickly. "Uh... yeah, actually, she is," I admitted, scratching the back of my neck.

She gasped, clasping her hands together in delight. "I knew it! I told your father there was something special about her. She’s the best candidate you could’ve found."

Best candidate? Sure, Mom. Let’s go with that.

Little did she know, Ella and I were entering a contract marriage with an expiration date. The words "best candidate" weren’t exactly how Ella would describe this arrangement.

Still, seeing my mom’s joy made me feel a little better. At least one part of this situation felt... normal.

If I thought marrying Ella would be the hardest part of this whole situation, I clearly underestimated the chaos that followed. The media was having a field day.

The Kings and the Kingsleys—two of the most influential families—united by marriage? Oh, they were eating it up. Headlines like "A Power Couple in the Making" and "The Wedding of the Decade" were splashed across every gossip site, newspaper, and TV channel. I couldn’t even step into my backyard without hearing the faint hum of camera shutters or spotting some idiot with a telephoto lens trying to climb my fence.

Seriously, who does that?

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, one genius reporter decided to go digging through old photos of me at events. It didn’t take long before they stumbled across her.

The mysterious girl from the LBJ company party.

At that time, Ella had been in disguise—she’d worn a sleek black mask, blending into the crowd as just another anonymous guest. But now, thanks to our very public marriage announcement, the media had put two and two together.

A side-by-side comparison hit the tabloids within hours: Ella in the mask at the LBJ party and Ella now, walking into some high-profile meeting or stepping out of her car in her usual stylish flair. The caption practically screamed: "MYSTERIOUS GIRL REVEALED! Kingsley Heiress Was Jason King’s Plus-One at LBJ Party!"

Well, great. So much for keeping anything low-key.

Ella’s face was plastered everywhere, from TV screens to online blogs. The internet was buzzing with speculation about our relationship. Some were calling it a fairytale romance (ha!), others a calculated business arrangement (closer to the truth, but still), and a few conspiracy theorists thought it was some elaborate PR stunt.

Ella? She was handling it all like a pro.

"Well," she said one evening as we sat in her father’s villa, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "at least they think it’s a real marriage. That’s one less thing to worry about."

Meanwhile, I was struggling not to lose my mind.

"You’re way too calm about this," I muttered, scrolling through my phone and seeing yet another photo of me trying to dodge a cameraman outside my office. "They’re literally camped outside my house."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes, reclining on the couch like she didn’t have a care in the world. "You’re Jason King. You’re supposed to thrive under the spotlight."

"Thrive?" I scoffed, gesturing wildly at my phone. "Ella, they’re climbing my fence. Some guy almost fell into my pool yesterday trying to get a shot of me taking out the trash."

She burst out laughing, and despite my frustration, I couldn’t help but smile a little. Her laughter was infectious.

"You’re lucky," she said between chuckles. "At least they didn’t catch you in your boxers or something."

"Not funny," I grumbled, though a small part of me was glad she wasn’t freaking out.

Ella leaned back, her expression softening as she looked at me. "Hey," she said, her tone more serious now. "It’ll blow over. Give it a few weeks, and they’ll move on to the next big story."

I wanted to believe her, but knowing the media? They weren’t letting this go anytime soon.

"Yeah, well," I muttered, tossing my phone onto the table, "in the meantime, I’m installing an electric fence."

Ella laughed again, and for a moment, the craziness of it all didn’t seem so bad.