The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

ELLA’S POV

Being pregnant wasn’t a big deal.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

I went to the office like normal, handled business like normal, lived like normal. Except... my phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

Jason.

My father.

My mother-in-law.

My father-in-law.

At first, it was sweet.

"Have you eaten?"

"Are you drinking enough water?"

"Don’t overwork yourself!"

"Do you need me to send a chef? A doctor? A team of bodyguards?"

By the fiftieth call, I was ready to scream.

And then, as if the universe hated me, the morning sickness began.

The first day was hell.

I woke up, stumbled to the bathroom, and barely made it to the toilet before throwing up everything I had eaten in the past five years.

Jason freaked out.

"ELLA, OH MY GOD, ARE YOU DYING?!"

I wiped my mouth, glaring at him. "I’m pregnant, Jason. Not on my deathbed."

But did he listen? No.

He panicked. He hovered. He made breakfast.

"Here," he said, shoving a plate of toast and eggs at me.

I took one whiff.

And promptly threw up again.

Jason looked personally attacked. "Was it the toast? The eggs? The butter?"

"It was you," I muttered, grabbing my toothbrush.

Jason gasped.

From that day forward, my mornings were officially cursed.

Every morning, like clockwork, I would rush to the bathroom and throw up my soul.

And every morning, Jason would appear with food.

"Try eating some fruit."

Vomit.

"How about a smoothie?"

More vomit.

"I read that ginger tea helps—"

"JASON, IF YOU BRING ME ONE MORE THING TO EAT, I WILL END YOU."

Jason froze, holding a tray of oatmeal.

We stared at each other.

Then, in a very slow and calculated move, he placed the tray on the table and backed away like I was a wild animal.

"Noted," he whispered.

I threw a pillow at him.

But the worst part?

The next morning, he still tried again.

The morning sickness wasn’t getting better. If anything, it was getting worse.

And Jason? That idiot had turned into a full-fledged mother hen.

"You’re not going to work today," he announced one morning, standing at the bathroom door with his arms crossed.

I wiped my mouth after yet another round of puking and glared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You’re staying home."

I snorted, brushing my teeth aggressively. "Last I checked, Jason, I still own my company. And I don’t recall putting you in charge."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Yeah? Well, last I checked, you’re carrying my child, and you look like you’re dying every morning. So guess what? I’m in charge now."

Oh. Oh, he was really asking for it.

I spit out the toothpaste and pointed the brush at him. "Jason King, I swear to God, if you so much as—"

"Too late," he cut in, holding up my phone. "I already called your assistant and cleared your schedule."

I froze.

Then, very slowly, I dropped the toothbrush.

"You. Did. WHAT?!"

Jason stepped back immediately, eyes wide with fear. "Now, now, let’s not get violent—"

"JASON, I WILL KILL YOU!"

Cue me chasing him through the entire house, throwing everything I could get my hands on—pillows, a hairbrush, a slipper, a whole damn vase—while he dodged like his life depended on it.

Spoiler alert: it did.

JASON’S POV

I don’t regret a lot of things in life.

But telling Ella she couldn’t go to work? Yeah, I regretted that instantly.

She threw things. She screamed. She threatened to break my kneecaps.

And you know what?

I DESERVED IT.

But I wasn’t backing down.

No way in hell was I letting my pregnant wife, who could barely keep food down, go into the office and act like she was fine when she clearly wasn’t.

So yeah. She could fight me all she wanted.

She could chase me around the house.

But at the end of the day?

She was staying home. Period.

After an hour of her tantrum, Ella finally gave up, flopping onto the couch and glaring at me like I’d committed war crimes.

"You’re the worst," she muttered.

I smirked, dropping onto the couch beside her. "And yet, you married me."

She threw a pillow at my face.

Worth it.

ELLA’S POV

So I stayed home.

But Jason?

Jason wasn’t done being annoying.

After forcing me to rest, he wouldn’t shut up about taking care of me.

"Are you hungry?"

No.

"Are you thirsty?"

No.

"Do you need me to rub your feet?"

"Jason, if you don’t leave me alone in the next five seconds, I will personally dig your grave."

Jason grinned. "Aw, you’d bury me? That’s love."

I kicked him off the couch.

And when he landed with a loud THUD, I laughed.

This.

This was my new normal.

So, guess what?

Jason also didn’t go to work.

Because apparently, if I couldn’t go, then he wouldn’t either.

"Solidarity," he said.

"Insanity," I corrected.

But did that stop him? No.

Instead, he set up his laptop in the living room, right across from the couch where I was trying to sleep in peace. And every five minutes, he’d glance up from his emails and bother me.

"Eat this," he said, shoving a plate of freshly cut fruit in my face.

I groaned, burying my head under a pillow. "Jason, I just ate!"

He ignored me, placing the plate on the table. "Eat again."

"No."

His eyes darkened. "Then I’ll call your father." 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

I froze.

Jason smirked. "That’s right. And you know your father will be ten times worse than me."

Damn it.

I sat up immediately and grabbed the plate. "You’re a monster."

Jason leaned back, smug. "A monster who loves you."

I threw a grape at his face.

He dodged.

I threw another one.

He caught it with his mouth. "Nice try, sweetheart."

I was going to kill him.

If my father found out I was refusing food, he would personally come over, give me a two-hour lecture, and then probably make Jason force-feed me himself.

So yeah. I ate.

Reluctantly.

At first.

But... well... I kind of liked the fruits.

Okay, fine, I really liked them.

Jason even cut them into cute little pieces and brought them with whipped cream once, and I almost cried.

But did I tell him that?

Hell no.

I had pride.

So I ate in angry silence, refusing to make eye contact.

Jason, the absolute menace, just sat across from me, grinning like he’d won the war.

JASON’S POV

So yeah.

I threatened to call her dad.

And guess what?

It worked.

Ella, who had been acting all tough, suddenly caved like a house of cards.

She ate the fruit.

She pouted while doing it, but hey—a win is a win.

And the best part?

She actually liked it.

Did she admit it?

No.

Did I notice the way she reached for more when she thought I wasn’t looking?

Absolutely.

Did I make a comment about it?

Not if I valued my life.

So, like a smart husband, I just quietly kept bringing her more.

And when she didn’t refuse anymore?

I silently celebrated my victory.

The things i do for my child.