The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason POV:

The first morning of married life, and I was already on edge. I’d woken up early, determined to do something—anything—to make the day start on a better note. Cooking breakfast seemed like a safe choice. Ella might have been furious, but surely even she wouldn’t object to a plate of eggs and pancakes, right?

I’d just finished flipping the last pancake when I heard the soft padding of her footsteps behind me. I turned, spatula still in hand, to find Ella standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a look of thinly veiled annoyance on her face.

"Good morning," I said cautiously, trying to gauge her mood.

She didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes swept over the kitchen, narrowing slightly. I could see the wheels turning in her head as she looked around. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was thinking.

"Looking for someone?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

She raised an eyebrow at me, the smallest hint of a scowl forming. "Where are the staff?"

And there it was. I braced myself. "We didn’t hire any," I said, keeping my voice as steady as possible.

Ella blinked, clearly caught off guard. "What do you mean, we didn’t hire any?"

I sighed, setting the spatula down. "Your father mentioned you weren’t fond of having a live-in staff. Something about liking your privacy? So the arrangement is they’ll come in to clean every day and leave after."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "And you thought I’d be okay with that?"

"I didn’t really have a say," I admitted, trying not to sound defensive. "It was your father’s call, and honestly, I figured it’d be fine since he said it was what you preferred."

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. "So now you’re an expert on what I prefer?"

Okay, that stung. I held back a retort and instead gestured to the table. "Look, I made breakfast. Can we at least sit down and eat before this turns into a fight?"

Her eyes flicked to the neatly set table—pancakes, eggs, toast, even freshly squeezed orange juice—and then back to me. For a split second, I thought she might relent. But no such luck.

"I’m not hungry," she said flatly, turning on her heel and walking toward the living room.

I stared after her, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Ella, come on! Can we at least try to talk about this?"

She didn’t even pause. "There’s nothing to talk about, Jason," she called over her shoulder. "Enjoy your pancakes."

I let out a groan, running a hand through my hair. This was going to be a long, long year.

Still, I wasn’t giving up. Not yet. Gathering what little resolve I had left, I picked up a plate and followed her into the living room. If she thought I was going to just sit back and let this marriage become a war zone, she had another thing coming.

I walked into the living room, plate in hand, and found her sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone with a frown plastered across her face. She didn’t look up as I approached, but the tension in her shoulders told me she knew I was there.

"Ella," I started, setting the plate down on the coffee table in front of her. "You can’t just avoid me forever."

She finally looked up, her blue eyes cold and piercing. "Oh, can’t I?" she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "You’d be surprised how good I am at it."

I sighed, lowering myself into the armchair across from her. "Look, I know you’re upset. And I know it’s my fault. But can we please talk about it? Ignoring each other isn’t going to help."

She let out a short laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humor. "Talk? Now you want to talk? Where was this sudden interest in communication when you and your little buddies decided to turn me into a game?"

I winced. There it was. The bet. The colossal mistake that had come back to haunt me in ways I’d never imagined. "Ella, I know you’re angry—"

"Angry?" she interrupted, setting her phone down and leaning forward. "Jason, I’m beyond angry. I’m humiliated. Do you have any idea how it feels to find out that every interaction, every moment I thought was genuine, was nothing but a joke to you?"

"It wasn’t like that," I said quickly, desperate to explain. "Yes, it started as a stupid bet, and I regret that more than anything. But it ended a long time ago. I—"

"Oh, so that makes it okay?" she snapped, her voice rising. "Because it ended? Do you think that erases what you did? The lies? The manipulation?"

"No, of course not," I said, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "I know I screwed up, Ella. I know I hurt you. But it wasn’t all a lie. Somewhere along the way, things changed. I—"

"Save it," she said sharply, cutting me off again. "I’m not interested in your excuses or your sudden epiphanies. The only reason I went through with this marriage is because I have my own goals to achieve. You and your feelings? They’re irrelevant."

I stared at her, stunned into silence. Her words were like a slap to the face, cold and brutal. "Ella, I—"

She stood abruptly, cutting me off once more. "I’m going to my room. Don’t follow me. Don’t talk to me. Just...stay out of my way."

With that, she walked out of the living room, leaving me sitting there, staring at the untouched plate of pancakes and feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t the marriage I’d imagined, not even close. But as I sat there, grappling with the mess I’d created, one thing became painfully clear: fixing this wasn’t going to be easy.

But I had to try. No matter how long it took, no matter how much she pushed me away, I wasn’t giving up. I owed her that much. And maybe—just maybe—I could earn her forgiveness along the way.

....

I froze mid-thought, the fork I had been absently twirling in my hand clattering onto the plate. My assistant’s words echoed in my head: "Someone managed to hack into the LBJ company resources fund and donated half of the funds to charity."

Half. To charity.

There were only a handful of people who could pull off something so audacious and leave no trace behind. And while it wasn’t the kind of move I’d ever associate with Ella before, the way she had been acting lately, I couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that she might be behind it.

"Jason? Jason, are you still there?" my assistant asked, breaking through my spiraling thoughts.

"Yes," I said quickly, straightening in my chair. "How bad is the damage?"

"Well," he hesitated, "it’s a PR nightmare for sure, but since the funds went to charity, it’s hard to paint it in a completely negative light. Still, the shareholders aren’t exactly thrilled about having half their reserves vanish overnight."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Any idea who’s responsible?"

"No concrete evidence yet," he said. "Whoever did this covered their tracks exceptionally well. It’s almost...personal."

Personal. The word hit me like a ton of bricks. I swallowed hard, my suspicions growing stronger. Ella was furious with me—furious enough to want to hit me where it hurt. And let’s face it: hacking into a company’s funds and donating them to charity was exactly the kind of calculated chaos she would orchestrate.

"Keep digging," I said finally. "And don’t tell anyone else about this yet. I’ll handle the shareholders."

"Understood," he said before hanging up.

I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing. If Ella was behind this, what other surprises did she have in store for me? I had underestimated her before, thinking we’d buried the hatchet after our diner incident years ago. Clearly, I had been wrong—very wrong.

The way she’d been looking at me since the wedding—like I was something she wanted to squash under her heel—now made perfect sense. She wasn’t just angry; she was out for revenge. And judging by the stunt with the LBJ funds, she wasn’t holding back.

I stared out the window, a sinking feeling settling in my chest. How the hell was I supposed to survive this marriage when my wife was on a mission to destroy me? Forget earning her forgiveness—I needed to find a way to keep my head above water before she sank me completely.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I didn’t have proof, of course. It could have been anyone—a hacker, a disgruntled employee, or some rival company pulling a dirty trick. But the way Ella had been acting lately, with her sharp glances and icy demeanor, made it hard to dismiss the idea. She was brilliant, calculated, and, when provoked, downright terrifying.

I hung up, running a hand down my face. It had to be her, didn’t it? I mean, who else had a reason to target me right now? The bet, the wedding, her icy cold war—it all painted a picture of revenge. And if Ella was behind this, it wasn’t just a petty prank. This was calculated, brutal. Classic Ella Kingsley when she was out for blood.

Still, I didn’t want to accuse her outright. If I confronted her and she wasn’t involved, it would only make things worse. But if she was behind it, then I needed to figure out how to approach her without her throwing another metaphorical dagger my way—or worse, an actual one.

Later that evening, as I stood in the kitchen pretending to focus on the leftover breakfast I’d packed up, I heard her heels clicking against the floor. She strolled into the room like she owned it, her expression calm but her eyes carrying that familiar edge. The Ella Kingsley I had once feared, before all of this, was back.

"Something on your mind, Jason?" she asked casually, grabbing a glass of water from the counter. She didn’t even look at me as she spoke, but I could feel the weight of her presence.

I hesitated. Do I ask her? Do I risk another icy dismissal—or worse, a full-on explosion? 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Uh, yeah," I said finally, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Weird thing happened at work today."

Her brow lifted slightly, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she sipped her water, her silence more unnerving than any sharp retort.

"Someone hacked into the LBJ company’s resources fund," I continued, watching her carefully for any reaction. "Donated half of it to charity. Crazy, right?"

She placed the glass down with deliberate precision, finally meeting my gaze. Her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Sounds like a good cause," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Whoever did it must really care about the less fortunate."

There it was. That gleam in her eye. That hint of smug satisfaction. I couldn’t prove it, but my gut told me she was behind it.

"Ella," I said, leaning forward slightly, "if there’s something you want to tell me—"

"Tell you?" she interrupted, her voice sharp. "Why would I bother? You’ve never really been interested in the truth, have you?"

I clenched my jaw, biting back the retort I wanted to make. She wasn’t just playing games—she was playing me. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to win.

Instead of pushing further, I nodded slowly. "Fair enough," I said, stepping back. "But just so you know, Ella...if you are behind this, it’s not just me you’re hurting. A lot of people rely on those funds."

Her smile faded, replaced by an expression I couldn’t quite read. But before I could figure it out, she turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with more questions than answers.

Survive Ella? That was putting it lightly. At this rate, I’d be lucky to last a month.