The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason’s POV:

Wow, Ella was seriously pissed. I’d never seen anyone move so fast toward the exit. The second that kiss ended, she was practically bolting for the exit, but the paparazzi were ready, surrounding her like sharks sensing blood. Cameras flashed, voices shouted, everyone desperate to know who she was. Every single one of them wanted a piece of the "mystery girl with Jason King." I saw the look on her face—a mix of panic and frustration. She hated the attention, no question.

Dylan, Max, and I jumped in, forming a barricade around her to get her through the crowd. Thankfully, my car pulled up right on time. The guys gave me a thumbs-up to take her, so I ushered her into the passenger seat, slid in behind the wheel, and we made a clean getaway. But wow, did I feel her anger radiating off her the entire drive. She didn’t even have to speak; her fiery glare said it all.

And did I mention Ella was mad? I mean, really mad. Her eyes practically shot lasers as she glared at me, her whole posture screaming murder. And the ridiculous part? I hadn’t planned any of it! That kiss—it was an accident. Someone jostled me from behind, and next thing I knew, we were in front of a million cameras, lips locked. Of course, trying to explain this to Ella was like talking to a brick wall. She didn’t buy it for a second.

"Ella, you’ve got to believe me," I said for what felt like the hundredth time, glancing over at her. But her jaw was set, eyes blazing, like she was ready to wring my neck.

"Christ, I’m innocent," I muttered under my breath, knowing it didn’t matter. To her, I was guilty as charged, and right now, I wasn’t sure I’d make it out of this car alive.

After her threat, she fixed me with a glare that could melt steel. "And for the record," she added, her voice low and laced with warning, "if you ever pull a stunt like that again, you’ll regret it. Got it?"

I nodded, because really, what else could I do? There was no use trying to convince her now—she wasn’t going to believe me. So, I bit back any smart remark and resigned myself to silence, letting her anger simmer while I kept my eyes on the road.

We settled into an uneasy quiet, but I could tell her mind was racing, processing everything that had just happened. This night definitely wasn’t going how I’d imagined—or hoped. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to hear her thoughts about me being the CEO of LBJ Company.

The one night I’d tried to impress her, to get her to see me differently, had completely blown up in my face. And now, sitting here with her fuming beside me, I was beginning to wonder if there was any way to salvage it.

I pulled up to her place, and before I could even finish parking, she was already out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Not wanting to let things end like this, I jumped out, bolting after her. Damn, she was fast.

I managed to catch up to her just as she was about to walk into the building. "Ella, wait... please," I said, reaching out. "I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for any of this to happen."

She barely spared me a glance, yanking her hand out of my hold and striding off without a word. I stood there, watching her disappear inside, frustration building in my chest. Great. Back to square one with her, and all because of some idiot who shoved me.

I clenched my fists. Whoever that guy was, he deserved a good punch for this mess. But the real problem? I wasn’t sure how to fix things with Ella now.

Ella’s POV:

After my not-so-subtle threat, we settled into an uncomfortable silence. See, this is what happens when you agree to be someone’s plus one at a stupid party with a complete jerk. My mind was racing with damage control ideas, plotting ways to clean up this mess I’d been dragged into. I couldn’t wait to get home, grab my laptop, and start working on a plan.

The second we reached my place, I didn’t even give him the chance to park properly. I was out of that car in a heartbeat, slamming the door for good measure. I stormed toward the apartment building, practically seething. I was so done with Jason and his whole "King" act.

But of course, he had to follow me, calling out his apologies like that would magically fix things. I felt him grab my hand, probably thinking he could convince me to forgive him. Not likely. I yanked my hand away and kept walking without a glance back.

I had no time for his excuses. I had bigger problems to handle—and a scandal to deflect. Damage control was priority number one, and the last thing I needed was Jason wasting my time.

The second I stepped into my apartment, I stripped off that ridiculous gown, feeling instant relief as I pulled on my favorite pair of pajamas. After running through my nightly skincare routine, I grabbed my laptop and got to work. This night had been a disaster, and if anyone was going to fix it, it would be me.

I couldn’t believe how fast everything had spiraled out of control. One stupid kiss, one stupid mistake, and now I had half the city buzzing with "Who’s the Mystery Girl?" headlines. And me? I wanted nothing to do with it. The last thing I needed was people digging into my past, figuring out that I’m a Kingsley, and turning my life into their latest gossip frenzy. This kiss with Jason had to be erased—or at least overshadowed by something even juicier.

My mind flickered back to the party, replaying the moment when that waiter spilled his drinks all over Jason. At first, I’d thought it was a freak accident, but then I remembered something strange: Amber. That smug Prescott princess had been right there, and it clicked—she’d tripped the poor guy. She was aiming for me, but Jason had taken the hit. Well, too bad for her, because her little sabotage attempt was about to backfire spectacularly.

I cracked my knuckles, a wicked smile on my face as I tapped into my tech skills. If there was one place bound to have footage of Amber’s little stunt, it was that ultra-glamorous venue. They probably had a dozen CCTV cameras covering every corner, and I was going to find one that caught her in the act. I just needed to access their security feed—anonymously, of course.

It took a few clicks and a little digital sleight of hand, but bingo—I was in. Now, all I had to do was locate the right camera angle. My heart was racing, a mix of nerves and excitement as I scanned the footage, going back to the exact time of the incident. And then there it was, clear as day: Amber "accidentally" extending her foot, sending the poor waiter off balance. Oh, this was beautiful.

I downloaded the clip, barely able to contain my glee. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when this hit the tabloids. With this footage, I’d single-handedly shift all the attention from "Who’s Jason’s Mystery Girl?" to "Amber Prescott’s Clumsy Sabotage Scandal." It was almost too perfect.

Just as I was about to log out, though, a thought nagged at the back of my mind. Jason. He had claimed that someone had pushed him into that kiss, and naturally, I hadn’t believed him. I’d assumed he’d been showing off, trying to be the charming playboy in front of the cameras. But... what if he hadn’t been lying?

Curiosity got the better of me, and I rewound the footage to the moment right before the kiss. It was tricky to see, with people milling around and blocking the view, but after a few seconds, I saw it—a hand, just barely visible, giving Jason a shove. My stomach twisted. He really had been pushed. And here I was, tearing into him all night, blaming him for something that wasn’t even his fault.

Great. Now I felt a twinge of guilt—just a twinge, mind you. I’d been a little harsh, sure, but it wasn’t like he was completely innocent in all of this. The man still kissed me in front of a hundred flashing cameras, and I still had to do major damage control to keep my identity under wraps. But maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t done it to boast of me.

I shook off the pang of guilt. This wasn’t the time to get all sentimental. The headlines were out there, and I needed to cover my tracks. Amber’s little stunt was the perfect distraction, and I had no time to feel sorry for Jason. With the footage ready to go, I created a new email account and sent the clip to every major tabloid, news outlet, and entertainment site I could think of. Anonymous, of course. The last thing I needed was anyone tracing this back to me.

After triple-checking that I hadn’t left any digital fingerprints, I logged off and shut my laptop with a satisfied sigh. Mission accomplished. Now, let the headlines tomorrow focus on Amber Prescott and her "clumsy" attempt at sabotage.

Finally, I crawled into bed, sinking into the pillows with a sense of relief. Sure, maybe it was a little ruthless to throw Amber under the bus, but she’d more than earned it with her petty schemes. And if it kept me out of the spotlight? Well, that was just a bonus. Tomorrow, I’d be sipping my morning coffee, watching Amber’s face plastered all over the news while everyone forgot about "Jason’s mystery date."

A small, wicked smile crept across my face as I closed my eyes. Tonight, I was finally going to get some sleep—dreams full of sweet, sweet revenge.