It started as a typical day for me, a flight attendant, sitting with my coworkers at an airport café before our shift. We were laughing and sharing stories, mostly about rude passengers—unfortunately, most of them were men with entitled attitudes. Just another day in the service industry.

That’s when I noticed him. A man sitting nearby, sporting a smug grin while clearly eavesdropping on our conversation. His expression told me he thought he was above it all. My gut twisted, knowing that look all too well. The kind of man who thought we were beneath him.

I shot him a glance and asked, “Can we help you?”

He smirked. “It’s funny, listening to you complain about the men you’re supposed to be serving. Isn’t it your job to do what you’re told and keep quiet? Typical women.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. The smiles around our table instantly disappeared. Oh, hell no. I wasn’t about to let this guy get away with that. I leaned forward, staring him down.

“At least we know how to do our jobs properly,” I snapped back. “Maybe you should learn how to shut up.”

His smirk faltered for a second, but he still didn’t back down. The arrogance on his face infuriated me. Without even thinking, I grabbed the cup of hot coffee from his table and poured it all over his pristine white shirt. The coffee splashed down his chest, and he shot up from his chair, eyes wide with shock.

“WHAT THE—!” he yelled, his voice breaking as the scalding coffee soaked into his shirt.

The entire café went silent, all eyes on us. But I didn’t care. I felt a surge of satisfaction. He got exactly what he deserved.

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you open your mouth,” I said with a smile.

My colleagues and I turned on our heels and walked out, leaving him fuming and covered in coffee. It felt like sweet, immediate justice, and we were still laughing about it as we made our way to the gate.

Two hours later, we were ready to board the plane. My coworker grabbed my arm, excited. “Diana! Let’s go meet the new pilots before we take off.”

I was still riding the high from earlier as we approached the cockpit. I had no idea my good mood was about to come crashing down. When I stepped inside, my heart nearly stopped.

Sitting in the pilot’s seat, with that same smug grin from the café, was none other than the man I had drenched in coffee just hours earlier.

“Well, well. This should be interesting,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

My stomach sank. I had thrown coffee on *my pilot*. I was literally in hell.