The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason’s POV

I wasn’t sure whether Mr. Kingsley showing up was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it made Ella sit down and eat the breakfast she’d adamantly refused to touch earlier just because I was the one who cooked it. Watching her begrudgingly take a bite of the pancakes—then finish them—felt like a small victory.

On the other hand, the way her eyes kept darting toward me had me sweating bullets. Every time she glanced my way, I felt like I was one wrong move away from my funeral. Why? Because I was terrified she’d tell her father about the stupid bet.

If she told him... well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be walking out of this villa alive. Mr. Kingsley was the kind of man who’d ensure my disappearance would look like an accident, and I wouldn’t blame him.

As I stood there pouring coffee, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of Ella’s gaze. She was savoring my discomfort like it was her second course, and her silence was driving me insane. Every time she opened her mouth to speak, I braced myself, convinced that she was about to spill the beans and send me to an early grave.

Instead, she just smiled sweetly at her father, all sunshine and warmth—completely unlike the ice queen I’d been dealing with all morning. How could she switch so effortlessly? It was terrifying.

"See, Ella," Mr. Kingsley said, taking a bite of the pancakes. "I told you Jason was a good choice. He’s even cooking for you. Now I can rest assured my daughter is in good hands."

I didn’t even get a chance to savor the compliment because the second he said it, Ella shot me a look so sharp I nearly dropped the coffee pot. It was a silent warning: Say one word, and I’ll destroy you.

Great. I loved seeing her pretend to be the dutiful wife while simultaneously plotting my demise.

"Thank you, sir," I said, forcing a polite smile while avoiding eye contact with Ella. If I so much as smiled too wide, she’d probably find a way to stab me with a butter knife.

Mr. Kingsley beamed, clearly oblivious to the silent war raging between me and his daughter. "You know," he continued, setting his fork down, "I’ve decided it’s time to announce Ella as the CEO of Kingsley Enterprises at the next board meeting. It’s in three days, so you’ll both need to prepare."

Ella froze, her expression betraying the slightest hint of surprise before she masked it with her usual indifference. I, on the other hand, couldn’t hide my shock. CEO? In three days? That was huge.

"Of course, Ella," he added, glancing between us, "don’t hesitate to ask for help. Whether it’s from me or Jason, I expect you to lean on your support system."

Her support system? Was he talking about me? Her support system was probably a dartboard with my face on it.

I stole a glance at Ella, but she refused to look at me. Her jaw was tight, and I could tell she was biting back a snarky comment.

Then, as if the tension in the room wasn’t already thick enough, Mr. Kingsley decided to up the ante.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said, his tone shifting to something a little too casual. "Once you give me a grandchild, Ella, I’ll make you the permanent owner of the entire Kingsley empire."

I choked on my coffee.

Ella, mid-sip of her own coffee, coughed violently, her face a mix of shock and pure horror. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Mr. Kingsley said, completely unfazed. "I’m not getting any younger, and I want to enjoy my grandchildren while I’m still around. No reason to delay now that you’re married."

I was still trying to recover from the bomb he’d just dropped when he added, "And I do hope your wedding night yielded some fruit. It’s about time I start seeing some results."

Results? Grandchildren? Was this a business merger or a breeding contract?

Ella’s glare could’ve frozen fire. If looks could kill, I’d already be a pile of ash.

"Don’t worry, Jason," Mr. Kingsley said, patting me on the shoulder with a grin. "I have faith in you."

Faith in me? That made one of us.

Ella’s knuckles turned white as she gripped her coffee mug, her eyes daring me to make a single comment. For once, I had the good sense to keep my mouth shut.

As Mr. Kingsley finished his coffee and started discussing his plans for the board meeting, I sat there quietly, trying not to breathe too loudly and wondering if surviving this marriage was even remotely possible.

And Mr. Kingsley’s grandchildren? Well, the guy might as well settle in for the long haul because Ella wouldn’t even let me shake her hand right now, let alone roll around in the sheets to make some babies. Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Kingsley, but if you knew the current state of our marriage, I think you’d reconsider putting your hopes on us.

Honestly, I almost felt bad for the guy. To peg his dreams on our wedding night? Ha—what a joke. If only he knew that not only were we not sharing a bed, we weren’t even sharing a room. The closest I’ve come to intimacy with Ella was standing six feet apart while she glared at me like she was planning my demise.

And as for me? Yeah, I’m not even thinking about it. Because the last thing I need is to end up dead for daring to imagine something so bold. I’d rather sleep on the couch for the rest of my life than test my luck with her temper right now.

But I couldn’t help the irony of it all. Here was Mr. Kingsley, confidently mapping out the future of his legacy, blissfully unaware that his "perfect" son-in-law was one wrong step away from being annihilated by his daughter. The man had no clue what kind of war zone he’d just walked into.

In fact, maybe I should take notes from him—live in blissful ignorance. At least he seemed happy. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out how to survive my marriage with all my limbs intact.

Ella, on the other hand, sat there across the table with a calm façade that somehow screamed danger. She sipped her coffee like she didn’t just choke on it moments ago when Mr. Kingsley dropped the whole "grandchild motivation" bomb. I watched as she shot me a single glare—sharp, pointed, and absolutely clear in its message: Don’t you dare, Jason.

As if I would.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kingsley went on blissfully unaware of the silent war happening between his daughter and me. He kept talking about how thrilled he was to announce Ella as the next CEO of Kingsley Enterprises in just three days. Three days. That was all the time I had before she officially became my boss in every possible sense of the word. Not that she wasn’t already running the show in our marriage. And not because I was working for her but that she would be owning the biggest business in the world which I partnered with her father, but now not only will we be partners in a marriage but in the business world, with her getting the bigger share.

"Ella," he said, snapping both of us out of our thoughts, "I meant what I said. If things get overwhelming, don’t hesitate to ask for help. Jason is here for you, and I’m just a phone call away."

Ella gave him a sweet, practiced smile—the kind I was learning she reserved for everyone except me. "Of course, Dad. I’ll keep that in mind."

Liar.

Her words were polite, but the sharpness in her eyes when they flicked to me told a different story entirely. Asking for help? From me? Yeah, that was about as likely as us cuddling under the stars tonight.

"Jason," Mr. Kingsley said, turning his attention to me. "I’m glad you’re stepping up as a husband. Cooking breakfast, being supportive—I knew my instincts about you were right. Ella’s in good hands."

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best."

Inside, I was screaming. Good hands? Did he not see his daughter’s laser-beam glares cutting through my soul? Did he miss the way she flinched every time I so much as looked her way?

"Now," he said, clapping his hands together as he rose from his seat, "I won’t keep you two. You’re newlyweds, after all, and I’m sure you have plenty of things to enjoy—your home, your new life together..." His gaze lingered meaningfully, and I swear I saw Ella’s jaw tighten. "And who knows? Maybe by the time we have that board meeting, I’ll have more good news to celebrate!"

I froze, and Ella’s coffee cup audibly clinked against her saucer as she set it down with a little too much force.

"Dad," she said smoothly, though her tone had an edge to it, "let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

He chuckled, completely oblivious. "Alright, alright. I’ll leave it to you young ones."

As soon as he left, the atmosphere in the room turned heavy. Ella sat back in her chair, arms crossed, her piercing gaze pinning me in place.

"Congratulations, Jason," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "My father officially thinks you’re a saint. Too bad he has no idea what a snake you really are."

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but she was already standing, brushing imaginary crumbs off her skirt as she turned to leave.

"Ella," I called after her, desperation creeping into my tone. "Please, can we talk?"

She paused, one hand gripping the back of the chair. For a second, I thought maybe—just maybe—she’d relent. But then she glanced over her shoulder, her expression icy.

"Talk? About what? How you made me a joke for a bet? Or how I’m supposed to pretend that didn’t happen because you want to feel better about yourself?"

I flinched, the sting of her words cutting deeper than I cared to admit.

"You’ve got 365 days before I get rid of you, Jason," she said, her tone final. "So do yourself a favor—stay out of my way until then."

And with that, she walked out, leaving me sitting there in the aftermath of her storm.

I had to figure out how to fix this. Because if I didn’t, this marriage was going to be pure, unrelenting hell.