It wasn't the first time I'd seen that video, but it still brought tears to my eyes.

That night, I was also on the plane, but after two weeks of non-stop flying, Dalton had ordered me to rest in the cabin for half an hour.

I was touched at the time, not realizing he only wanted to use it as an opportunity to flirt with Lydia.

My heart ached with fresh pain. Just as I was about to call Dalton to discuss things, the bedroom door was kicked open.

Seeing my tear-streaked face, he showed no concern.

He didn't mention a word about my dismissal. Instead, he threw his phone in front of me and demanded, "What do you gain from releasing this video?"

"We were caught up in the moment," I replied, "and we were always close since childhood. Can't you be a bit more reasonable?"

Dalton was clearly furious. He stormed in, his anger palpable, and started questioning me relentlessly.

The phone left on the sofa continued playing the video, the sounds of their kissing coming through the speaker, contradicting his claim that it was a fleeting moment.

Dalton's face darkened as he watched. I said, "Dalton, you really disgust me."

"What did you say?" he snapped, suddenly advancing towards me, his voice rising. "You think I'm disgusting? If you think I'm so awful, why don't you just break up with me? If you think I'm so terrible, why are you still desperately clinging to me? Maybe it's you who's disgusting!"

He grabbed my chin, his tone harsh. "Speak up!"

This was the first time I'd seen Dalton like this.

We had our disagreements before, but he'd never been this cruel.

He once promised me, when he proposed high above in the sky, that he would make me the happiest person on earth.

Now, he was telling me I was more disgusting than he was.

I looked up at him in silence, tears streaming down my face.

Five years with him had amounted to nothing but blame, infidelity, and the label of "disgusting."

All those times I had compromised, he had forgotten every single one.

That day, when the flying went wrong, I was jolted awake from my sleep.

Stumbling towards the cockpit, I saw Lydia sitting beside him.

I still clung to the hope that he might offer me an explanation.

But what I got instead was him, in front of everyone, placing the entire blame on me.

He made everyone believe it was my fault as the navigator—my lack of focus, my misreading of the flight path, my stubborn arguments with him—that caused the plane to go down.

Meanwhile, the real culprit hid behind him, only to be praised publicly. "Thanks to Lydia, who assisted me in adjusting the plane back on course, the outcome could have been much worse," he said.

In an instant, I became the villain everyone wanted to punish. Lydia, on the other hand, rode on Dalton's praise and was fast-tracked to a permanent position with our airline.

Dalton's grip on me softened as he noticed my tears. He bit his lip, glanced at my eyes, and his tone finally softened. "You're in a high enough position at Coroala Airlines that taking this responsibility won't affect you much. Lydia's just started her internship, and if we blame her entirely, she's done for in this industry."

Dalton, unusually patient, continued, "They say you're being dismissed, but once the fuss dies down, they'll likely reinstate you."

"But that video isn't good for any of us—neither for you, nor for me, nor for Lydia. Please, just delete it."

Just then, his phone rang. Dalton's expression softened a bit as he saw the caller ID. "I've got to go. Think it over yourself."

He grabbed his phone off the couch, slammed the door behind him, and left.

I stared at his retreating figure for a long time, finally letting out a self-deprecating smile.

He didn't see the message from Lydia on my phone: [Lisa, wasn't I right? To Dalton, I will always be the most important.]

It was a deliberate jab at me. Lydia had filmed and sent me the video of them in the cockpit.

They were celebrating at a hotel tonight.

Dalton had stopped talking because their date was about to begin.

Looking at the message, I felt utterly drained.

Lydia had won.

Strangely, I didn't feel upset.

Once I decided to let go of him, everything about him ceased to affect me.

On the third day after my dismissal, I was summoned back to the company.

Contrary to my expectations of a stern reprimand, President Jack Barton greeted me with unexpected warmth.

When I checked my phone, I noticed that the video from the group chat had been deleted. The company's confidentiality protocols were tight, and the content hadn't leaked. Instead, the interview footage from the day of the accident had gone viral.

After a flood of online abuse, someone sharp-eyed pointed out that I, along with Dalton, were the same pilots who had heroically rescued two people five years ago at 30 thousand feet. Public opinion swung back and forth, but the company chose to steer clear of the controversy, hoping to defuse the situation.

Some people criticized me for losing my integrity and suggested I resign if I couldn't handle the pressure rather than stay and cause harm.

As Jack relayed these comments, I kept my head down, unable to meet his gaze.

His expression grew serious as he said, "I understand you're feeling wronged. I trust your skills and know you wouldn't make such a basic mistake. However, the company's image is crucial, so I hope you can overlook some of this."

To make amends, Jack offered me enticing incentives: a doubled year-end bonus and a chance for annual awards. But I declined them all.

Jack looked taken aback, frowning as he asked, "So what do you want?"

"I want to transfer out of Coroala Airlines," I said. "I need a letter of recommendation and an explanation from you. I'm looking to apply for a position with National Airlines."

"Wait, you want to leave?!" Jack's eyes widened in shock. "You're giving up on Dalton?"