Chapter 16: Fire of Doubt

Cody POV

I’m still buzzing from Ryan’s midnight call, my skin warm from his voice. That text—“Check your door”—sits heavy in my head. I stumble out of bed, heart pounding, and crack my apartment door open. Nothing. Just the empty hall, quiet and dark. My stomach twists, confused. I shut it, leaning on the wood. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe I’m dumb for hoping. I crawl back to bed, restless, missing him bad. Sleep doesn’t come easy.

Next day, I’m at my dance studio, trying to shake him out of my head. My shirt’s off, sweat dripping down my chest. The mirrors bounce my moves back at me, sharp and fast. Our song plays low, tugging at me. I spin, imagining his hands on my hips. My breath’s quick, lonely. Then the door creaks open. I stop, turning fast. Tara stands there. Ryan’s ex-costar. Pink hair, sharp eyes, smirk cutting her face. My gut clenches hard. She’s the one who called him. Trouble.

“Gold-digger, huh?” she says, voice loud and mean. She leans on the doorframe, arms crossed. “Ryan’s little boy toy.” My face burns, hot and fast. I step closer, fists tight. “What?” I snap, voice shaky.

She laughs, short and sharp. “Everyone’s talking,” she says. “You’re just after his cash. Poor Cody, the dancer with no name.” Her smirk grows, nasty. My chest hurts, like she punched me. Rumors. Lies. I think of that photo, Greg’s yelling. Now this. My hands shake bad. “Get out,” I say, low and mad.

“Truth hurts,” she says, shrugging. She turns, hips swaying, and leaves. The door bangs shut. My knees wobble. I sink to the floor, breathing hard. Gold-digger. Boy toy. The words stick, poison in my head. I grab my phone, scrolling fast. It’s there. Online. “Ryan Maddox’s fling—after fame or fortune?” My throat gets tight. Tears sting my eyes. I wipe them fast, mad. I need Ryan. Now.

I storm to his place, shirtless still, sneakers pounding the pavement. Rain’s gone, but my skin’s hot, sweaty. His mansion looms big, white walls glaring at me. I bang on the door, loud and fast. My heart’s racing, angry and scared. He opens it quick, eyes wide. “Cody?” he says, voice soft. He’s in a loose shirt, boxers. Too calm. It makes me madder.

“Tara came to my studio,” I yell, shoving past him. My voice echoes in his fancy hall. “Says I’m a gold-digger. Your boy toy!” I grab a glass off a table, hurling it. It shatters on the floor, loud and sharp. My chest heaves. “She’s lying!” he yells back, stepping close. His face is red, mad too. “She’s full of shit!”

“Then why’s it everywhere?” I shout, voice cracking. My hands shake bad. I feel small again, like in the rain. He grabs me, fast and hard, hands on my arms. “She’s jealous,” he says, loud. “Trying to mess us up!” His grip’s tight, warm. My skin burns where he holds me.

I glare, chest tight. Then he kisses me. Hard. Fierce. His lips smash mine, wet and hot. Tongues battle, rough and deep. I groan loud, mad but needing him. My hands rip at his shirt, yanking it up. He pulls back, eyes wild, and tugs my jeans down fast. They hit the floor, heavy. I’m bare, hard already. He shoves me against the wall, wood cool on my back. “You’re mine, not hers,” I growl, voice shaky. My nails dig into his shoulders, hard.

He nods, panting. “Yours,” he says, quick. He grabs lube from his pocket—always ready—and slicks up fast. His boxers drop. He’s hard, thick, pressing close. I lift a leg, hooking it on his hip. He thrusts in, raw and angry. I cry out, loud and sharp. It’s tight, fast. Punishing. His hips slam mine, skin slapping loud. My head bangs the wall, but I don’t care. “Ryan,” I moan, nails raking his back. Red lines bloom under my fingers. He grunts, deep and rough, thrusting harder.

“Fuck, Cody,” he says, voice breaking. His hands bruise my hips, holding tight. I rock into him, matching every move. My legs shake bad, barely holding me. Sweat drips down my chest, mixing with his. I taste salt when I bite his neck, hard. He groans loud, head tipping back. We’re messy, wild. My jealousy burns hot, but it’s shifting. Turning into us. I grab his hair, pulling. He thrusts deeper, hitting right. I lose it, coming hard, spilling between us. My moan’s loud, broken. He follows fast, shuddering, groaning my name. Warm inside me.

We sink to the floor, panting hard. My back slides down the wall, legs giving out. He’s on me, sweaty and heavy. My chest heaves, air burning my lungs. His face buries in my neck, lips wet on my skin. He licks slow, tasting my sweat. “Believe me?” he asks, voice soft now. His breath’s hot, shaky. My jealousy’s gone, burned out in our heat. I nod, spent and dizzy. “Yeah,” I say, hoarse. My hand rests on his back, feeling scratches. Mine.

He lifts his head, eyes locked on me. “She’s nothing,” he says, firm. His fingers brush my cheek, gentle. My heart slows, warm and full. I lean into him, forehead on his. “Okay,” I say, soft. My jeans are tangled at my ankles. I kick them off, curling closer. His arm wraps around me, tight and safe. We’re a mess—sweat, cum, broken glass—but it’s us. I breathe him in, salty and real. My fingers trace his jaw, slow. He kisses my nose, quick and dumb. I laugh, weak but happy.

We stay there, quiet. My legs tangle with his. The house hums around us, big and empty. My chest feels lighter now. Tara’s poison stung, but it’s fading. His hand slides down, resting on my hip. “You’re hot when you’re mad,” he says, smirking small. I roll my eyes, shoving him light. “Shut up,” I say, grinning. He pulls me closer, laughing soft. My heart’s loud, but it’s good loud.

Then a crash cuts through. Loud. Sharp. Outside. My eyes snap open. Ryan freezes, head turning fast. My stomach drops hard. “What was that?” I whisper, voice shaky. He sits up, quick, looking toward the window. Glass tinkles somewhere, faint but real. His face goes tight. “Cody, I need to tell you—” he starts, voice low and shaky. Another crash, closer now.