The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason’s POV:

Something was terribly wrong. Ella wasn’t the same woman I thought I knew.

As she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, she was radiant. Her dress hugged her perfectly, flowing like a river of white silk. Her smile—warm and genuine—made her look like something out of a dream. My dream. But the moment she reached me and placed her hand in mine, everything shifted.

Her smile disappeared, replaced by a faint frown. Her bright blue eyes, which used to shine with a spark I couldn’t get enough of, turned cold and calculating. I could feel the temperature drop between us as if an invisible wall had suddenly sprung up.

I offered her a reassuring smile, hoping to coax some warmth back into her expression. She didn’t respond.

The ceremony proceeded, but her demeanor didn’t change. When it was time to exchange vows, I spoke from the heart. I told her how much I respected her, how I was ready to build something real between us, and how I’d stand by her through anything. But as I finished, she gave me a smile that wasn’t warm or genuine—it was chilling. A smile so icy it sent a shiver down my spine.

Her "I do" was soft but sharp, like the edge of a blade.

When the officiant announced us as husband and wife and I leaned in for the kiss, I hesitated. Her expression was stoic, almost like she was bracing herself for something unpleasant. I pressed a quick, light kiss to her lips, hoping not to push her boundaries, but she pulled away so fast I barely had time to register the moment. She smiled shyly at the audience, playing her part perfectly, but I knew the truth—she couldn’t stand me.

And then came the reception.

Ella transformed into the perfect bride in front of everyone else. She smiled and laughed with the guests, posed beautifully for the cameras, and charmed every person who came to congratulate us. But the second she turned to me, her eyes hardened, and her demeanor grew frosty.

I had no idea what was going on.

At the first dance, I thought I’d have a chance to talk to her, to ask her what was wrong. As I placed my hand on her waist and took her hand in mine, she stiffened, recoiling ever so slightly as if my touch repelled her.

"You’re quiet," I said, my voice low.

"It’s my wedding day," she replied, her tone light but clipped. "What’s there to say?"

Her words stung. I tried to catch her gaze, but she looked past me, her focus on the crowd around us.

She endured the dance, her movements stiff and distant, as though we were strangers forced to perform. When her father stepped in to take her for the next dance, her face lit up with relief.

That hurt.

For the rest of the evening, it was more of the same. Ella laughed with her father, posed with my family, and even humored my Mom and Dad when they jokingly teased me. But with me? She was distant, cold, untouchable.

Jason POV:

At the reception, Ella was a vision of grace and charm, her smile dazzling as she greeted my parents. My dad was practically bursting with pride, and my mom looked at her like she was the answer to every prayer she’d ever whispered for my happiness. Ella’s warmth toward them felt genuine, and for a moment, I thought maybe she’d just been nervous earlier. Maybe I’d imagined the coldness.

Then Max and Dylan walked up, all smiles, ready with their teasing congratulations. And that’s when I saw it.

Ella didn’t just ignore them—she looked at them like they were garbage. Filthy, unwanted, repugnant garbage. She didn’t say a single word, didn’t spare them even a fake smile. Just turned and walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, leaving them gaping after her.

Max raised a brow, confused. "Uh, what was that about?"

Dylan looked equally baffled. "Did we...do something?"

I could only shrug, trying to mask the knot in my gut. "She’s been treating me the same way all day," I muttered.

We huddled in a quiet corner, wracking our brains for answers. What could we have done between yesterday afternoon and this morning to make her act like this? We came up with nothing. But one thing was clear—whatever it was, it wasn’t just about me. It was all three of us.

By the time the reception was over, I was desperate to figure it out. I needed to get her alone, to talk, to fix whatever the hell was going on. But the car ride to the villa was worse than tense—it was suffocating. Ella sat as far from me as she could, staring out the window, her posture rigid. I tried to break the silence.

"Ella," I said cautiously, "did I upset you somehow?"

She didn’t even glance at me. "No."

I frowned. "You’re...different."

"Am I?" she said with a shrug. "Maybe I’m just tired."

Tired. That was her excuse? It was bullshit, and we both knew it. But before I could press further, the car pulled up to the villa.

Inside, the silence felt even heavier. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned to her, frustration seeping into my voice. "Ella, if something’s wrong, you can tell me. Whatever it is, we can fix it—"

She laughed, a cold, humorless sound that sent a chill down my spine. "Oh, Jason, you don’t get it, do you?"

My stomach twisted. "Get what?"

Her eyes met mine, and they were like ice—sharp, unyielding, and impossibly cold. "This isn’t about fixing anything. It’s about surviving. And trust me, I intend to survive this marriage."

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. "What does that mean?" I asked, my voice rising in frustration.

Ella took a step closer, her expression unreadable, her voice laced with venom. "Oh, you’ll get your chance, Jason. But don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten about the bet."

My blood ran cold. The bet. She knew.

She smirked, and it wasn’t the teasing, playful one I’d grown used to. This one was cruel, calculating, meant to cut. "Good night, husband," she said sweetly, her tone mocking. Then she turned and headed upstairs without another word.

I stood there, frozen, her words echoing in my head.

The bet. She knows about the bet.

A sick feeling churned in my stomach. Of course, she was angry—furious, even. And disgusted? She looked at me like I was the scum of the earth. And the worst part? She wasn’t wrong.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair. No wonder she’d been like this all day. That stupid bet had finally come back to bite me, just when I thought it was buried in the past.

It couldn’t have been Max or Dylan. They were just as baffled as I was at her sudden coldness. The way she looked at them during the reception—like they were cockroaches she wanted to squash—was proof enough. They had no clue what was going on either.

So who told her?

I paced the living room, my mind racing. It wasn’t like we had broadcasted the bet to the world. It had been a stupid joke between friends, something we all regretted and moved past. Dylan and Max had even teased me about how my feelings for Ella had turned the bet into something real.

But none of that mattered now.

What mattered was that Ella knew, and she thought it was still a game.

I ran my hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up. She hadn’t even given me a chance to explain. From the moment she stepped down the aisle, her icy demeanor had been like a wall I couldn’t break through. And now, with her parting words echoing in my head, I knew why.

"Oh, you’ll get your chance, Jason. But don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten about the bet."

Her voice, so cold, so filled with contempt, was a knife to my gut.

I sat down on the couch, staring at the staircase where she had disappeared. How the hell was I supposed to fix this? She wouldn’t even let me get a word in edgewise.

But I had to try.

I couldn’t let her think this was all just some elaborate game, that my feelings for her weren’t real. Sure, the bet had started it all, but it didn’t define what I felt for her now. It didn’t define us.

At least, it didn’t for me.

I grabbed my phone, my thumb hovering over Max’s contact. Maybe he or Dylan could shed some light on how she found out. Maybe they’d noticed something I hadn’t. Before I could call, though, my thumb hovered over Ella’s name.

Would she even answer if I called her?

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. I couldn’t sit here and do nothing.

I stood up, pacing again. "Alright, Jason. Think," I told myself. "What’s the first step?"

The answer was clear: I had to talk to her. Face-to-face. She needed to hear it from me, not some twisted version of events from whoever had spilled the beans.

But how? How could I get through to her when she was so hell-bent on keeping me at arm’s length?

I clenched my fists, determination settling in my gut.

It didn’t matter how long it took or how many walls she threw up. I wasn’t going to let her think this marriage—this life we were about to build together—was built on lies.

I had one year to prove myself to her.

And I wasn’t about to waste a single day.