The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Ella POV:

Okay, I’ll admit it—I knew that dropping out of the competition might look crazy. I’d come this far, and I was so close to winning. But come on, could anyone really blame me? How was I supposed to start my career with a reputation tainted by whispers of favoritism? That contract wasn’t just a piece of paper. It was the foundation of my future, my chance to prove that I could make it in the cutthroat world of business. And yet, as soon as people saw Jason sitting next to me in class, I could already feel the judgment forming.

Women don’t get the benefit of the doubt in this world. In business, people always assume a woman’s success has a catch, some dirty little secret attached to it. Either she’s got a powerful daddy, a sugar daddy, or she’s slept her way to the top. I could practically hear the rumors that would start if Jason picked me as the winner. It wouldn’t matter how many hours I’d spent on my project, or how thoroughly I’d researched every last detail. No one would care about the late nights, the stress, or the fact that I’d poured every ounce of myself into my work. All they’d see was that Jason, the CEO, had taken an interest in me.

No way. I wasn’t going to let that happen. If I was going to succeed, I wanted people to know it was because I’d earned it, not because someone had given it to me as a favor, or worse, because they thought I had something to offer besides my ideas. I wasn’t interested in shortcuts, especially if they came with strings attached to my reputation.

After dealing with the three stooges—Jason, Max, and Dylan—who clearly didn’t get why I would ever turn down the chance, I headed back to work. They looked at me like I was from another planet, completely baffled that I’d rather drop out than risk a tarnished reputation. But that’s because they don’t understand. They don’t live with the constant scrutiny, the unspoken doubts that follow women who step into the world of business. I knew I had to hold myself to a higher standard. Sure, they meant well, but they could never fully grasp what it felt like to have every achievement questioned, to wonder if people respected you for your work or just tolerated you because they thought you were there on someone else’s coattails.

Anyway, no point in brooding. My shift at the diner was about to start in five minutes, and I could already picture my boss eyeing the clock, ready to lecture me if I was even a second late. The last thing I needed was a lecture from him, too. I took a deep breath, mentally braced myself, and headed off to work.

The shift had started off smoothly enough. The diner was busy, but it was a manageable pace, and I was keeping my mind off the whole disaster with the competition and the trio of guys who wouldn’t take "no" for an answer. Then, as if the universe was determined to keep me on my toes, a familiar face walked through the door.

Mr. Harris.

My stomach dropped. That cheeky, relentless old man had managed to track me down yet again. If anyone could hunt me down no matter how well I hid, it was him—my godfather, Mr. Harris. His tracking skills were almost legendary, but seeing him standing there, looking right at me with an expression that shifted from surprise to something like horror, I knew this was going to be a challenge.

For a second, he looked like he might actually faint. He definitely hadn’t expected to find me here, and certainly not in a waitress uniform. The shock on his face was almost comical. He opened his mouth, clearly ready to launch into a lecture, but I raised a finger to my lips, silently urging him to keep it down. He was already drawing attention, and I didn’t need any of my colleagues overhearing our conversation.

"Mr. Harris," I whispered, leaning toward him with a fierce glare in my eyes that said *not a word*. His eyes glinted with a mixture of worry and amusement, and he looked at me like he was assessing whether or not I’d gone completely off the deep end.

Reluctantly, he followed me to a booth, still too stunned to say much. Once seated, he took a deep breath, his face softening just a little. At least he wasn’t yelling—my father would have already been dragging me out by my ear if he’d found me here. Mr. Harris was slightly more reasonable, thankfully.

"Ellie, my sweet, sweet child, what on earth are you doing here?" he finally managed to ask, his voice a hushed mix of concern and disbelief. "If your father knew..."

Before he could even finish that sentence, I cut him off, desperation edging into my voice. "No, my father doesn’t know, and you’re not going to tell him," I commanded, trying to sound like I had it all under control.

He raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. "Just like him," he said, with a hint of pride in his voice. He always did have a soft spot for my streak of stubborn independence.

I couldn’t help but ask, "How did you find me?"

He chuckled, leaning back in the booth with that mischievous glint that only Mr. Harris could pull off. "Saw some newspaper coverage," he said slyly, with a smirk. Of course. The stupid kiss scene with Jason had blown my cover. For all the effort I’d put into staying hidden, a single public moment had unraveled my whole plan.

He continued, "You might have had a mask on and even changed your hair color, but you can’t fool me, Ellie. If your father had seen it, he’d recognize you in an instant, too." He paused, as if savoring a particularly amusing memory. "And let’s not forget that you were wearing the same dress from my banquet... the one where you caused a bit of a ruckus, if I remember correctly."

Oh, that party. I felt my cheeks flush just thinking about it. That particular night had been one of my more... memorable rebellions. My dad had insisted I attend, parading me around like some rare exhibit, so I’d decided to have a little fun at his expense. The plan was to drink just enough to be a mild embarrassment to him, a little revenge for being forced into the whole charade.

Of course, things hadn’t gone quite according to plan. I’d underestimated the potency of the champagne, and before I knew it, I was tipsy, hungry, and staring at a cake that looked like it had been plucked straight from a dessert-lover’s dream. I’d intended to wait for Mr. Harris to cut it, but... well, drunk me wasn’t exactly known for patience or etiquette. I’d ended up cutting a slice right in front of everyone, completely disregarding the fact that it was still his cake to cut.

Mr. Harris watched as I fidgeted with embarrassment, clearly savoring the memory. "Oh, yes," he said with a chuckle. "The headlines were something else: ’Kingsley Heiress Drunk as She Cuts the Cake Before the Birthday Man.’ Your father was livid." His eyes sparkled with nostalgia. "But I remember your mom laughing about it after, even if you were grounded for three months."

"Hey, in my defense, I didn’t plan to eat the cake before you," I muttered, crossing my arms. "I just... got a little carried away. I was mostly aiming to embarrass my dad, not... well, not to be branded a glutton."

"But it was my birthday," he said, feigning indignation, though his lips quirked up in a smile. "And there you were, stealing my cake in front of a room full of guests. Quite the impression."

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, even as I felt a little pang of mortification. "The cake really was worth it, though," I admitted, grinning. "It was delicious."

Mr. Harris shook his head, though he still looked amused. "Well, I’ve missed you and your antics," he said softly. "But I can’t help wondering, what are you really doing here, Ellie?"

I sighed, glancing around the diner before meeting his eyes. "I needed to do something... on my own. Away from the family name, the expectations, and the weight of being a Kingsley." I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. "I want to build something for myself, godfather. I don’t want people to think I’m where I am just because of Dad or the family fortune."

He regarded me with a look that was both understanding and concerned. "I get it, Ellie. I do. But there are easier ways to prove yourself than by working as a waitress, hiding from your own family."

I shrugged, trying to play it off, even though his words hit a nerve. "Maybe. But for now, this is what I want." I forced a smile. "And besides, it’s not so bad. I get to meet interesting people. Even if some of them are... insufferable."

He chuckled at that, shaking his head again. "Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be you if you did things the easy way." He sighed, glancing around the diner with an expression that suggested he was half-amused, half-exasperated by the whole situation. "But, Ellie, promise me one thing—if you get in over your head, you’ll come to me. Don’t let that stubborn pride keep you from asking for help."

I nodded, touched by the concern in his voice. "I promise, Mr. Harris. But I’ve got this. Really."

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go, patting my hand before standing to leave. "Alright, then. I’ll keep your secret... for now. But don’t make me come back here to rescue you, okay?"

I laughed, watching him go with a mixture of relief and affection. Just as he stepped out of the diner, he turned and gave me one last look, his eyes full of warmth and something like pride. And with that, he was gone, leaving me feeling strangely grounded and determined to see this crazy plan of mine through. And just when I was about to let out a sigh of relief three pairs of eyes looked at me with something I couldn’t comprehend, well so much for handling my life crisis.