I have my headphones on as I direct flight routes.

A pilot named Everett Wright suddenly switches into the voice channel I'm on. Then, he publicly mocks me for being inept in bed.

"Hey, Jacob! Your wife said you're practically hopeless in bed and that you're done in just a second! Are you seriously a one-second shooter? Ahahaha!"

When the rest of the crew hear Everett's words, they can't stop themselves from laughing too.

Thinking that this isn't humiliating enough for me, Everett flicks on a private channel purposefully. I can hear my wife, Charlotte O'Brien, suppressing her moans and pants.

"Hurry up, honey! Why did you switch to my husband's channel? Stop messing around and just turn it off already!"

Charlotte's voice is tinged with a hint of affection. She doesn't care about whether or not I got humiliated—she just enjoys the thrill of being able to flirt with her lover in public.

I took a deep breath, forcing down the anger churning inside me. "Hyperion Airlines 001, the thunderstorm area is spreading. A diversion to Santrix is recommended."

Over the channel, Everett Wright's laughter only grew more unrestrained. "Lottie already set the route for me. We like a bit of excitement."

After all the flights had landed safely, I stepped out of the control tower. The cold rain lashed against my face, yet I felt not the slightest trace of chill.

I had just taken out my phone when Charlotte O'Brien's call came through. Seeing the words "Her Majesty" on the screen, a wave of nausea rose in my throat.

I accepted the call. Charlotte's voice was as cold and unwavering as ever, as though the woman who had just been flirting at 30,000 feet was someone else entirely.

"I want a brand-new pair of Givchi black stockings. Have them delivered to the aircraft in ten minutes," she ordered.

For the past three years, Charlotte had cheated on me again and again. Afterward, she would use demands like this to humiliate me.

Meanwhile, I had remained the pathetic, incompetent husband, perpetually fixing the mess she left behind.

"Enough. Let's get a divorce," I said, my voice hoarse.

After a brief pause, Charlotte let out a soft, derisive chuckle. "Stop messing around, Jacob. I'm tired. Don't play these games with me. You'd better send those stockings over."

A sharp beep followed as the call ended.

As I stared at the digital divorce agreement sent by my lawyer, the last trace of warmth in my gaze disappeared.

"Fine. If you want me to deliver them, I will," I thought.

Without changing out of my uniform, I rushed straight to the tarmac. The sight inside the cabin made my blood boil.

Charlotte was reclined against the leather couch. Her pale thighs were exposed, and torn pieces of black stockings were scattered across the floor.

Everett calmly zipped up his pants, a smug smile tugging at his face.

A group of wealthy, unfamiliar young men and women stood nearby. With glasses raised, they erupted into whistles and cheers.

"Way to go, Charlotte!"

"Rett, you're the man!"

Ignoring everyone around me, I strode over to Charlotte and tossed the divorce agreement in front of her. "Sign it."

A moment of silence passed, followed by a burst of mocking laughter.

"Holy shit! This is hilarious! He's a broke guy mooching off his wife, and now he has the audacity to demand a divorce?"

"Haha! This two-pump chump suddenly thinks he's tough! Is he planning to leave empty-handed and crash under a bridge?"

"How dare a pathetic loser like him act up in front of his sugar mommy! This is ridiculous!"

Everett laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. He stepped up to me, jabbing a finger into my chest. "Have you come to your senses? You finally figured out you can't satisfy Lottie and decided to back off, huh? You should've said something earlier. I might've even thrown you a little parting gift."

Charlotte's expression soured, and she picked up the agreement from her lap. Without another look, she ripped it into pieces before tossing them into the champagne bucket.

Rising slowly, she reached out—as if calming a misbehaving pet—to smooth my wrinkled collar.

"Alright, don't make a scene. It's my fault. I shouldn't have let them talk nonsense. I'll do my best to stay home for a couple of days next month and keep you company."

She spoke as though she were doing me a tremendous favor. I quickly swatted her hand away.

How disgusting! I turned around, ready to leave this revolting place.

"Do you think you can just come and go as you please? What is this, your personal restroom?" Everett asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Without warning, he deliberately stuck out his foot. I fell forward with a heavy thud. The moment my ear collided with the metal edge of the airplane seat, a warm liquid started to flow from my ear canal.

The searing pain and humiliation caused the anger I'd been bottling up for three years to burst forth all at once.

"You've got some nerve, bastard!"

Like a frenzied beast, I swung a punch straight at Everett's face. Chaos instantly swallowed the cabin.

With his larger build, Everett quickly seized the upper hand. He pinned me beneath him and tore my shirt open.

The instant he noticed the red birthmark on the left side of my chest, he froze in place.

"Knock it off!" Charlotte's sharp voice cut through the chaos. She turned to check Everett's injuries. "Rett, are you okay?"

Avoiding everyone's gaze, I staggered off the plane. That same day, I handed in my resignation.

I grabbed my phone and booked two plane tickets back to my hometown. I didn't want to remain in this wretched place for even a second longer.

Thanks to Everett, my right ear throbbed with relentless, excruciating pain.

With a somber expression, the doctor told me my eardrum was perforated and that I could lose my hearing permanently. I nodded mechanically.

The career I had once been so proud of was over. Still, there was no time to grieve. I rushed to the VIP ward to pick up my father, Anthony Schwarz.

He sat silently in his wheelchair, his figure gaunt and painfully thin. The moment he saw me enter, a faint light stirred in his clouded eyes.

I crouched down and grasped his hand firmly. "Dad, I'm here. Let's go home."

…

The airport entrance was crowded with people. The bustling atmosphere seemed to lift my father's spirits as he sat in his wheelchair.

He suddenly took my hand in his, his emotions running high. "Jack… about the birthmark on you… you're actually Wright Group's–"

I leaned forward, straining to catch his words.

"Jacob Schwarz!" Charlotte's icy voice interrupted our conversation.

Without even sparing my father a glance, she pulled me aside and shoved a document into my face.

"I haven't approved your resignation. I've also spoken to the Federal Aviation Administration. Without my consent, you're not going anywhere."

Her tone was cold, allowing no room for argument.

"Charlotte, do you really have to go this far?" I asked, my voice trembling with anger.

"Go this far?" Charlotte sneered. "You're the one who crossed the line first! Jacob, I'm warning you—don't ever test my limits again. Be good and come back with me. Once you've had your ear treated, return to the control tower and report for duty."

With a condescending tone, she added, "As for your father, I'll arrange the best medical transport and have him admitted to my family's private hospital."

"I'm not agreeing to that," I replied, my voice sharp and cold.

Amid our heated exchange, my father became visibly agitated in his wheelchair. He pointed toward Everett in the distance. Struggling to rise, he let out shallow, ragged groans.

Suddenly, the sharp screech of tires cut across the air. A fully loaded baggage vehicle came racing straight toward us at full speed.

"Dad!" I screamed. But by the time I reached him, it was already too late.

A loud bang echoed. The sound of that impact broke my world apart in an instant.

I could only watch in horror as my father, still in his wheelchair, was violently flung onto the hard marble floor. Blood ran freely from the back of his head.

In that instant, time itself seemed to stand still. I rushed forward like a madman. I pulled my father close, feeling the cold spreading through him. My entire body stiffened in place.

Standing in the crowd, Everett removed his sunglasses, a cold, vicious smile spreading across his face.

At that moment, it struck me—this wasn't an accident. It was a calculated act of murder.