The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Amber’s POV:

"Amber!" My father’s voice boomed through the mansion, echoing down the marble-floored hallway and shattering the serene morning vibe I’d curated. I froze, mid-swipe with my mascara wand, my hand hovering in front of the gilded mirror. What on earth could he possibly want now? It was barely 9 a.m., and he was supposed to be at work, bossing around his army of corporate minions. So why was he still home? And yelling, no less.

A delicate knock on my door snapped me back to the present. One of the servants stood there, head bowed just enough to avoid my gaze, but I could sense the nervousness rolling off her. "Miss, your father is calling for you. He wants you downstairs immediately."

I rolled my eyes, setting down the mascara with an exasperated sigh. "Tell him I’ll be there in a moment," I replied, stretching each word out in the way that conveyed I was far from eager to jump to his demands.

The servant hesitated in the doorway, fidgeting slightly. I narrowed my eyes. "Something else?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She swallowed, still not meeting my gaze. "It’s just... Mr. Prescott seems very angry, Miss. He insisted you come at once."

Oh, wonderful. Daddy was in one of those moods. But what on earth could I have done to rile him up this time? I hadn’t done anything lately that might damage his precious reputation—not that he knew of, anyway.

I waved a hand dismissively. "Fine. Whatever. I’ll be right down." The poor girl practically scampered off, as if relieved to be out of the line of fire. I looked back at my reflection, adjusting a stray curl and taking a moment to admire the way my designer blouse hugged my shoulders. If I was about to face one of my father’s "lectures," I might as well look flawless.

On my bed, my pink Gucci bag lay half-packed, awaiting the finishing touches for my campus essentials. I pointed at it as I breezed past. "Make sure those last few things are packed," I told another passing servant, gesturing vaguely. "I have class in an hour, and I don’t want to waste a second once I’m done with this... whatever this is."

I strode through the hallway, past the grand staircase, with its ornate banisters and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed views of our perfectly manicured gardens. Honestly, I didn’t know why my father insisted on keeping a house this big—sometimes I thought it was just to remind everyone in the city how absurdly rich we were.

As I neared the dining room, a flurry of thoughts raced through my mind. I’d been... well, mostly careful lately. Sure, there’d been that little incident with that mysterious lady Jason bought at the party, but it was just harmless fun, a light prank, nothing serious. And Jason? Well, that was a situation of its own, but not something my father would be concerned about... right?

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the heavy oak door to his study, squaring my shoulders as I entered. My father was by the window, his back to me, his posture rigid with tension. He didn’t turn to look at me immediately, which was unusual. Typically, he was quick to shoot me a glare when I arrived a second later than he wanted.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, keeping my tone carefully neutral as I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Slowly, he turned, his face set in a look of steely disapproval. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Amber?" His voice was cold and controlled, the kind of tone he usually reserved for incompetent business partners and rogue reporters.

I blinked, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you’re talking about, Father," I replied smoothly.

He didn’t buy it. He tossed a tablet onto the table between us, its screen lit up with the day’s top headline, complete with a zoomed-in shot of my face from the party last night. "Heiress Amber Prescott Caught Sabotaging Waiter: Scandal at the King Gala!" I felt my stomach tighten. Below the headline was a video clip, showing that moment—the one where I’d nudged the waiter just a bit, intending to embarrass that stupid mysterious lady. Except the champagne ended up on Jason. And now, the whole world knew.

I barely kept my expression in check. So someone had caught that on camera, huh? My money was on her. She had to have something to do with this.

My father’s voice cut through my thoughts. "Amber, do you realize the damage this has done? My phone has been ringing all morning—clients, partners, the media. They’re all questioning the Prescott family’s integrity because our daughter apparently thinks sabotaging people at parties is a hobby."

I plastered on my best innocent smile. "I didn’t meant it for Jason it was for the stupid bitch. You’re acting like I burned down the building."

"Burn down the building?" He echoed, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "Amber, this ’stunt’ has humiliated us publicly. We are Prescotts’. People expect dignity, composure, class. And you—" He shook his head, looking as if I’d single-handedly ruined the family name.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "So what? It’s one little article. The media will forget about it in a week."

He didn’t seem convinced. "This article reflects poorly on you, on your mother and me, and on everything we’ve built. The Prescott name is not to be tainted by childish pranks and petty jealousies."

There it was—petty jealousies. My jaw tightened, heat prickling at the back of my neck. Just because I’d wanted to put that dumb bitch in her place didn’t make me petty. If anything, I’d done the world a favor by showing her she couldn’t just waltz into any event and act like she owned the place.

But one look at my father’s face told me it was pointless to argue. He was in full lecture mode, and no amount of reasoning was going to change his mind.

"You’ll be issuing a public apology, effective immediately," he declared, crossing his arms. "We’re going to handle this before it snowballs any further."

A public apology? Oh, hell no. My mind raced. I could just picture it now—me groveling to the public, my friends at school snickering, everyone eating up the idea of the great Amber Prescott being forced to apologize. It was beyond humiliating. But if I didn’t, my father was likely to make my life a nightmare.

I forced a tight smile. "Fine, I’ll do it," I muttered through gritted teeth.

He looked at me for a moment, then nodded curtly. "Good. We’ll draft it together. By tonight, I expect this entire mess to be behind us. I will not tolerate this kind of recklessness again, Amber."

"Of course, Dad," I replied, my voice sugary sweet, though inside I was simmering.

As I left the room, anger and embarrassment burned under my skin. That bitch was behind this—I was sure of it. Somehow, she’d arranged for that footage to leak, and she’d done it just to humiliate me. Well, she’d made a powerful enemy today. If she thought this was over, she was sorely mistaken. I just need to get her identity.

Because no one—no one—messed with Amber Prescott and got away with it.