The walk-in closet reeked of cedar and Mark’s expensive Santal 33. As I folded a worn sweatshirt, he sneered at my suitcase, calling it a “goodwill dump” and reminding me that appearances mattered for his London meeting. I didn’t argue—I was orchestrating Vanguard Holdings’ latest acquisitions while he flexed his gym-earned ego. I zipped my bag and followed him to the Uber, ignoring his warnings about hovering near Tiffany, his ambitious assistant.
At the airport, my phone buzzed: the Helios acquisition was complete. I was now Chairwoman of Skyward Air. Mark, oblivious, tore up my First Class boarding pass and forced me to the last row, Row 48, by the lavatories. Tiffany came to gloat, spilling champagne over me, mocking my “cattle car” seat. My hurt turned to cold calculation. I pressed the call button. The Lead Purser, James, answered. I declared a pest infestation in First Class.
I strode past Tiffany and Mark, projecting my CEO credentials and Vanguard Holdings’ bank transfers onto the cabin monitors. Mark’s face drained as he realized I now controlled both companies and the Helios deal was dead. I ordered the plane to divert to Reykjavik. Local police met us on the tarmac; Mark and Tiffany were removed for disorderly conduct. I left him a ten-pound note: “Buy a coffee.”
Back in First Class, I cleaned off the champagne, slipped into Seat 1A, and sipped Dom Pérignon. From my laptop, I dismantled Mark’s career, finalized our house sale, and triggered divorce proceedings. The Rolls Royce awaited at Heathrow. For years, I had been a passenger in my own life. Now, the sky was mine—open, vast, and finally, free