The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Ella POV:

It's been a month since I managed to outwit my father's spies and slip into this country unnoticed. Leaving home during my final year of campus was a bold move. I was determined to finish my studies, carve out a space for myself in the business world, and prove to my father that I could succeed without his influence. With the little money I had saved, I enrolled at the University of Elite, hoping to start anew and escape the life I fled from. 

For a whole month, things have gone surprisingly well. I've kept a low profile, shrouded in my hood and mask, which has earned me the notorious title of "the Hoody Girl" around campus. I love the anonymity it provides, the sense of safety in obscurity. I don't want anyone recognizing me or linking me to my father. I certainly don't want my face splashed online, which would only lead my father straight to me.

As a new student in a bustling campus, I initially felt like a ghost. I spoke to a few classmates but kept interactions superficial. I was determined to keep my identity concealed, and that meant avoiding close connections. This has led the campus queen bee and her entourage to assume that my hiding is due to some hideous deformity. The rumors are wild: some say I'm scarred, others claim I'm oozing with wounds, and a few have even suggested I have horns. Really? It's ridiculous. Their imaginations run wild, and I let them—it's better than the truth.

Maintaining my anonymity has required strict adherence to my three simple rules: 

1. Never remove the hood and mask. 

2. Don't attract attention. 

3. Follow rules one and two at all costs. 

For now, these rules have worked in my favor. After the first week of curious stares and whispered gossip, people began to lose interest and the lecturers stopped their complaints about my attire. They've learned to accept it and life has settled into a relatively peaceful routine.

But peace is a fleeting thing in a place like this. The campus is buzzing with the latest hot topics, driven largely by Amber—the queen bee—and Jason, the so-called king of the school. They seem to be the center of every gossip circle, their relationship a constant source of speculation. Amber, in particular, loves to hint at their connection without ever confirming it. Their drama is the daily entertainment, and I have no interest in being part of it. 

Jason and Amber are untouchable in the social hierarchy, and being anywhere near them is a surefire way to attract unwanted attention. To avoid this, I take my seat at the farthest end of the classroom, positioning myself against the wall as if to merge with it. The goal is to remain unnoticed, blending into the background while navigating the complexities of my new life. 

Each day is a balancing act—keeping my hood and mask firmly in place, staying under the radar, and carefully avoiding anything that might draw attention. The life I've built in the shadows is fragile, and the last thing I need is a disruption from the likes of Amber or Jason.

If I had known today would mark the start of all my trouble, I would have gone straight home after classes. But with no money to my name—thanks to my father freezing my accounts in a bid to make me desperate enough to crawl back to him—I had no choice but to work. Even if my accounts hadn't been frozen, I wouldn't have touched them. One withdrawal, and he'd trace me, find me. No, I couldn't risk that.

So, here I was, working at a diner near campus. If my father ever found out I was working in some greasy joint, he'd blow a fuse. But what could I do? I needed the money to cover rent for the shabby apartment I'd barely been able to afford. My options were limited. After school, while my classmates headed off to enjoy their free time, I hustled to the diner, where my days of blending in as "the Hoody Girl" came to a screeching halt.

My boss, a grumpy man with thinning hair and a constant scowl, was no picnic. He loved to bark orders, constantly berating me for being "too slow" or "too lazy." His favorite demand? "Smile! The customers want to see a friendly face, not some grim reaper in a hood." Right . As if my smile was going to keep them from barking orders at me. I had to compromise my first rule here. Instead of the hood, I wore a baseball cap, yanked so low it almost covered my eyes. And the wig—God, I hated that thing, a cheap black wig to hide my golden hair that would draw attention. The wig was a nightmare, always itching and making my scalp sweat, but it was better than being recognized. The wig was my shield, even though it made my scalp feel like it was on fire.

Working at the diner was hell. My boss barked orders non-stop, calling me lazy and complaining that I moved too slowly. But it wasn't my fault that the spoiled brats sitting in the booths kept changing their minds every five seconds. The rich kids from campus treated the diner like their personal playground, constantly changing their orders and demanding attention. It was a circus, and I was stuck in the middle, pretending to be invisible. I did my best to stay out of trouble, stay unseen, but this job was testing my patience—and breaking my first rule was a risk I hated taking.

The moment my shift would ended, I'd race to the bathroom, tear off the wig, and replace it with my trusty hood and mask. Only then could I breathe again. And in my rundown apartment did I allow myself to exist as I truly was. No one there knew me or cared to ask. It was the only place I didn't have to hide.

Today at the diner was eerily quiet, a rare blessing in my hectic routine. The students had all flocked to watch the "golden boy" himself, Jason, play basketball. Apparently, our university was squaring off against some rival school, though I hadn't bothered to learn which one. The details didn't matter to me—I was just relieved that the place wasn't packed with noisy, entitled brats for once.

The quieter the better. I prayed that my shift would end before the game was over and the crowd came pouring in to celebrate. They always did, flooding the diner with their laughter and victory chants, ordering everything on the menu like they owned the place. Then, they'd head off to Jason's house for the real party. It was a routine I'd come to dread since the day I started here.

Jason's team never lost. At least, that's what everyone said, and I'd seen enough to believe it. The guy was practically a god on campus, with his stupid charm and stupid talent. The golden boy. He and his friends could have the whole diner in chaos in minutes, and tonight would probably be no different—unless, by some miracle, they lost. But Jason never let that happen, or so the legend went.

I tried not to think about it as I wiped down the tables, focusing on the slow drip of time and hoping, just this once, I could get out before they turned up.

I was praying to make it through the shift unnoticed. The students would be spilling out of the game soon, and the diner was about to turn into a madhouse. Jason's team must have won again because I could already hear the excited chatter building outside. I kept my head down, my cap pulled low, as I hurried between tables, trying to stay out of sight.

The last thing I needed was to attract attention, especially from Jason's crowd. They always took over the diner after a game, like they owned the place. Jason, of course, was the loudest, soaking up the praise like a king accepting tribute. I was carrying a tray of drinks, focused on keeping my balance, when it happened.

Jason stood up, right in front of me, and I didn't see him until it was too late. My tray slammed into his chest, and suddenly, soda and ice went flying everywhere. It all happened in slow motion—the glasses tipping, the cold liquid splashing across his shirt, soaking him through. For a split second, there was complete silence.

Then the laughter started. It rippled through the diner like wildfire, and I wanted to crawl under a table and disappear. Jason was frozen, his eyes wide with shock, his face flushing redder by the second. I opened my mouth to apologize, but no words came out. I could feel his rage building as he stared down at me, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might crack.

"Are you serious?" he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. 

I stepped back, holding my tray like a shield, mumbling something about it being an accident. But the damage was done. The entire diner was laughing, and Jason—the golden boy, the king of this place—was standing there, drenched and humiliated. His eyes locked onto mine, and in that moment, I knew I was screwed. 

Whatever peace I had managed to hold onto for the past month had just been shattered. Jason wasn't going to let this go. I could see it in his eyes. I had just become his next target, and I had no idea how to get out of this mess.