The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

JASON’S POV

With a resigned sigh, I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers to my suffering.

I could still hear Ella’s soft breathing, the only proof that the demoness had momentarily transformed into a harmless, sleeping beauty.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

She was only harmless until she woke up.

Then?

I was back to square one—walking on broken glass, dodging daggers, and making sure I didn’t end up six feet under.

Still... as much as I wanted to escape, I knew I couldn’t leave.

Not just because she’d threatened to tell her father (which, let’s be honest, was an effective death sentence), but because...

I was actually worried.

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling frustrated with myself.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

I was supposed to be counting down the days until our contract ended, supposed to be keeping my distance, supposed to be protecting myself.

But here I was, watching over her like an idiot, because even if she was a demoness when sober, she was still my wife.

And I—

I loved her.

Even in her bitchiness, her pettiness, her cold-hearted vengeance, I loved her.

And the idea of something happening to her because I wasn’t there to take care of her?

It unsettled me.

I didn’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if she got sick in the middle of the night and I wasn’t there to help.

So, with a deep breath, I pulled the blanket over her properly, making sure she was warm.

Her face was peaceful, her usual sharpness replaced by a soft vulnerability she’d never let me see when sober.

I couldn’t help it.

I reached forward and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She stirred slightly, murmuring something under her breath, before settling back into sleep.

I shook my head, biting back a chuckle.

Drunk Ella was a handful, but at least she wasn’t plotting my murder.

Now, all I had to do was survive the morning after.

****

Just before dawn I woke up. Thank God I woke up before her.

And God help me, because when she wakes up and realizes who she spent the night with?

I was in trouble.

I had to get out.

Before she woke up. Before she realized I had spent the entire night taking care of her.

Before she remembered that she was supposed to hate me.

And most importantly—before she decided to ruin me again.

I carefully peeled her fingers off my shirt where they had latched onto me like a damn sleeping octopus.

She murmured something in her sleep and shifted, her hand searching for me in the empty space.

I froze.

Was she awake?

Nope. Just drunken instincts.

Her brows furrowed slightly, and for a moment, she looked almost adorable.

Almost.

Because I knew the moment those cold, calculating eyes opened, the real Ella would return, and she would probably strangle me with her bare hands.

I slowly moved her hand back onto the pillow and tiptoed toward the door.

Just a few more steps, and—

"Mmm... Jason?"

I DIED.

ON THE SPOT.

I swear my soul left my body.

I turned slowly, preparing for the worst—only to see her still asleep, lips slightly parted.

I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I needed a plan.

A solid, unbreakable plan.

Not just to get her to forgive me, but also to survive this marriage before she decided to collapse my company the same way she had already done with half of my resources.

Oh yes.

I knew it was her.

Nobody else could have hacked into LBJ Enterprises and transferred millions of dollars worth of resources to charity without getting caught.

But she?

She did it without leaving a single trace.

Well, almost no trace.

Because I knew her.

I thanked God.

I should have known better.

Because the universe hates me.

Just as I successfully removed her death grip from my shirt, just as I made it to the door, just as I thought—YES, I AM FREE!

Her stupid alarm went off.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Loud. Annoying. Doom.

I froze.

Then, like a man whose life depended on it, I bolted.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t breathe.

I didn’t check if she woke up.

I just ran.

Like Satan himself was hot on my heels.

Like my life depended on it.

Because knowing Ella Kingsley, if she caught me sneaking out of her bed, she wouldn’t just kill me—she’d make sure I suffered first.

I ran.

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

I sprinted through the hallways like a man escaping from a haunted house, heart pounding, breath shallow. If anyone had seen me, they would’ve thought I was running from a ghost.

Nope. Worse.

Ella Kingsley.

The Demoness.

The moment I reached the guest room—my so-called room—I slammed the door shut behind me, leaned against it, and just...

Laughed.

Hard.

Like a madman.

"Good Lord," I wheezed between gasps of laughter. "Since when did I turn into a scaredy cat?"

I clutched my stomach, wheezing.

I had outrun boardroom fights, dodged hostile business takeovers, and negotiated deals worth billions.

Yet here I was, running for my life like a child scared of the dark—except my monster wasn’t under the bed.

She was in it.

And I had just slept beside her.

Dear God.

The irony? I used to dream of sharing a bed with Ella.

Now?

I barely escaped with my soul intact.

Back in my room

My room.

The guest room.

Heck, could I even call it my room?

Half of my clothes were still in Ella’s room, because—ha!—everyone thought we’d be sharing like a normal, loving couple.

Yeah, right.

I was lucky to still be breathing after spending one night beside my wife.

But I did need my clothes back.

Which meant...

I had to go back in there.

Back into the lion’s den.

Back to the Demoness’s lair.

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Why do I feel like this is going to be the dumbest decision of my life?"

Because it was.

But I couldn’t exactly show up at work in yesterday’s suit.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and prepared myself for battle.

Time to retrieve my belongings...

And hopefully escape with my life.

I had one minor detail I forgot to consider.

Ella might not remember that I spent the night in her room...

But she sure as hell would notice she was wearing my shirt.

Fuck.

I should never have given it to her. What the hell was I thinking?

Oh, right. I was thinking about my survival—keeping her from wearing those ridiculous lace nightgowns that would’ve either gotten me killed or tortured by my own self-control.

Now, I had another problem.

How the hell was I going to explain this?

Did I tell her she stole it?

Did I tell her it magically appeared on her body?

Did I pack my bags and move to another country?

Nope.

New plan—I was NOT going back for my clothes.

I would rather wear this same damn suit all week than risk going back in there and having to explain why my very recognizable, very masculine, very mine T-shirt was now her new sleepwear.

Nope. Nope. NOPE.

I’d just text my assistant to bring me a new suit.

Then, I’d get the hell out of this house before she woke up.

God willing, by the time I came back, she’d either:

One. Would have gone to bed early and asleep.

Two. Forgotten about waking up in my shirt.

Three. Milded down her anger enough not to murder me on sight.

And if none of the above happened?

Well... I’d start drafting my will.