The energy inside Kingdom Arena in Riyadh was absolutely electric—buzzing, pulsing, almost alive. You could feel it in the air, like the ring itself was breathing. The fans roared with every movement on the screen, anticipation rolling off them like a wave crashing against the barricades. And at the center of it all?
Cody Rhodes.
The King of the Ring finals were finally here—Cody versus Randy Orton. Mentor versus protégé. The past versus the present. And Cody? Cody didn’t walk into that ring alone. He walked in with me right beside him.
I stood at ringside, arms crossed tight just beside the announce table, my boots planted and jaw set. My gear shimmered in Cody’s colors—crimson, gold, a splash of white down the sides—and the subtle stitched crown near my hip said everything I didn’t need to. I wasn’t a manager. I wasn’t a bystander. I was his best friend, his shield if needed, and tonight, I was his loudest damn supporter. “You got this, Code!” I shouted as the bell rang. “Let’s show the world what royalty really looks like!”
From the start, they went at it like men possessed. Cody exploded out of the gate, stringing together strikes and counters with surgical precision. He hit a textbook Cody Cutter, then dragged Randy up to the top rope for an avalanche version that made the whole ring shudder when they landed. I threw my hands in the air, bouncing against the barricade. “COME ON, REF, THAT’S THREE!” But nope. Randy kicked out at two. Typical Viper.
Cody didn’t flinch. But neither did Randy. Orton answered with that familiar predator’s calm—slow, cold, calculated. He snapped off a massive Superplex, then later caught Cody with an RKO that came out of nowhere. The crowd gasped. My heart skipped a beat. My fists tightened on the barricade as I shouted, “Get up, Cody! Don’t you dare let that be it!”
Each move was a flashback—years of tension, history, and heartbreak playing out with every kick-out. Cody had once stood in Randy’s shadow. Now? He was proving he belonged in the spotlight. Then Randy’s face changed. He shifted into that darker gear I hated. The one that didn’t just want to win—it wanted to hurt. I saw it before the crowd did. He backed up to the corner. That familiar sick glint in his eye. I knew what was coming. “Punt kick,” I whispered, already halfway up onto the apron. “Don’t do it, you snake—”
But Cody dodged it.
YES.
Before I could breathe, Randy went for a steel chair—slid it right into the ring like the rules meant nothing. “Oh no, you don’t!” I growled, ready to storm in, but the ref saw it. He grabbed it just in time, wrestling it from Randy’s hands while Cody shook the cobwebs loose behind them. That gave him the opening.
Orton turned to finish it, but Cody met him with fire. Randy tried to whip him into the exposed turnbuckle—but Cody reversed it, shoving Randy ribs-first into the steel! The sound echoed through the arena like a shotgun blast.
“THAT’S RIGHT!” I screamed, punching the air. “THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GET CUTE, RANDY!”
Cody didn’t waste a second.
He hooked Randy’s head—Cross Rhodes. He covered. The crowd counted along with me.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!!
The roof exploded. I screamed with it. Cody had done it. Cody Rhodes… was King of the Ring. I didn’t wait. I didn’t think. I launched myself under the bottom rope like a bullet, sprinting across the mat and throwing my arms around him. “You did it! You freaking did it!” I laughed, voice cracking with pride. “King Cody, baby!” I yelled, tackling him in a hug so hard it knocked him off balance. He laughed, breathless. “Angel, you’re crushing my ribs—”
“You have ribs? Thought they were made of star-spangled destiny,” I teased, clinging to him like I never wanted to let go. And I didn’t. Not in that moment. Adam Pearce stepped in, handing Cody the crown like it was Excalibur, and I stepped back just slightly—just enough to place one steady hand on his back as he turned to face the roaring crowd. Confetti rained from the rafters in gold and red, swirling like magic around us. Fans chanted his name over and over.
Cody held me tight for a second, sweat-slick and breathless, and grinned. “You never stopped believing in me, huh?”
“Not for a second. Now go wear that crown and make 'em all remember why you're next.”
And me? I stood beside him like a sentinel. Quiet. Strong. Proud. Across the ring, Randy Orton sat slumped in the corner, clutching his lower back, fury etched into his face. That old injury flared again—and maybe, just maybe, the resentment too. I met his gaze for a second. He looked past me like I wasn’t even there.
Fine. Let him stew in the loss. Because tonight? The ring didn’t belong to The Viper. It belonged to my best friend. To the American Nightmare. To the King of the Ring. And I would guard that crown with everything I had.
Later that evening-
The echoes of the celebration still hummed through the hallways of the Kingdom Arena like a song I wasn’t a part of. I could hear the cheers fading behind us, the crew still buzzing from Cody’s win, high-fiving him as he passed. Everyone was smiling, slapping his back, calling him “King Cody” like it was second nature already. And honestly? It fit.
The crown sat slightly off-kilter on his head, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. His cape caught the breeze every time he turned a corner, fluttering behind him like it had a mind of its own. He was radiant, proud, and for the first time in a long time, I think he truly felt victorious. But the second he reached my locker room door—the one labeled Guardian Angel in bold letters—his pace slowed. Because Cody Rhodes knew me. He knew when the silence was just silence, and when it was something heavier.
I stood in front of the mirror, my eyes locked on my reflection. I was already in my gear: white with silver accents that shimmered under the fluorescent lights, the stitched silhouette of a silver wing curling delicately along my ribs. It was bold. Regal. Confident. Everything I didn’t feel in that moment. I tugged the laces of my boots tight with a little more force than needed, just to give my hands something to do. My jaw was clenched. My shoulders were too stiff. I stared at myself like I was waiting for something to shift—some spark, some magic.
The door creaked open behind me, and I saw his reflection appear in the mirror—Cody, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, crown still perched on his head like it belonged there. “Y’know,” he started, his tone playfully dry, “for someone who used to threaten to superkick me for not letting medics check my bruises, you’re looking awfully serious right now.”
I didn’t turn around. “Don’t make me throw you through your own throne, King Cody.”
He laughed, stepping fully inside. “There she is. There’s the sass I know and fear.”
Finally, I glanced at him over my shoulder. “What do you want, your royal highness? A bow? A curtsy? Maybe a slow clap for being the most dramatic man in Riyadh tonight?”
He pointed to himself with mock offense. “Me? Dramatic? I think that title still belongs to Logan Paul, honestly.”
That made me smirk—barely, but it was there. Cody caught it instantly. He always did. I stood up, brushing my hands on my thighs, trying to shrug off the nerves as I rolled my shoulders. He watched me for a beat, his smile softening just slightly. He knew. Of course he did. “You ready?” he asked, gentler this time.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, eyes shifting away. It was too quick. Too hollow.
“Yeah,” he drawled, walking a little closer. “You’re ‘fine’ the same way I was after I wrestled with one working pec and the other one dangling like overcooked spaghetti.”
I gave him a narrow-eyed glare. “Okay, wow. That’s one way to paint it.”
“I’m just sayin’,” he said with a shrug. “You don’t have to act invincible. You’ve already been through a war to get here. You beat Alexa. Took down Charlotte. You choked out Asuka, Angel. That’s not luck. That’s grit. That’s you.”
I let out a slow breath, letting his words sink in even if I didn’t want them to. “It’s not that I’m scared,” I admitted quietly, my voice losing its usual fire. “I’m just… I’ve come so far. All this way. And if I lose now—”
“If you lose,” he cut in gently, “you lose with your head held high and your wings wide open. But if you don’t go out there and leave everything in that ring? That’s not you. You don’t hold back. Ever.”
I looked at him, my tough shell cracking just a little more. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, firm and steady. “You believed in me out there tonight,” he continued. “Even when I was on the mat, barely moving, I heard you screaming my name. You never gave up on me.”
I nodded slowly. “You scared the hell out of me, Rhodes.”
He chuckled. “You and me both.”
He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Now it’s my turn. I’ll be out there, yelling your name. Just as loud.”
I blinked at him, letting the silence fill the space between us. Finally, I cracked a small smirk, voice soft but laced with dry humor. “You better yell loud enough for Jade to hear. I might need the world’s most obnoxious distraction.”
“Oh please,” he said, straightening my shoulder pad with exaggerated care. “You’re the distraction. The wings, the glare, the gear—you’ve got this whole intimidating angel of death thing down.”
“Damn right I do,” I said, standing a little taller. I let out a breath, then glanced toward the hallway. “Let’s give ‘em a show they’ll never forget.”
He stepped back, that proud smile never leaving his face. “You’ve already earned the crown in my book. Now go take it for real.”
I turned toward the curtain, my boots echoing quietly as I moved to leave—but before I crossed the threshold, Cody called out one last time. “Hey—Queen or not, you’re already royalty to us.”
I didn’t turn back. Didn’t have to. He saw the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. I squared my shoulders and walked toward the biggest fight of my life—not just as Guardian Angel, but as a woman who refused to back down from anything. My wings weren’t visible to the crowd, but they were there. And I was ready to fly.
ns216.73.217.39da2
and then Add to home screen.