Billionaire Brat Sprays Flight Attendant With Wine—Rich Man's Son Gets Shocking Revenge!

A Cold Reception

The biting autumn wind whipped around the imposing wrought-iron gates of St. Augustine’s Academy, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. A persistent drizzle slicked the granite cobblestones, reflecting the bruised, slate-gray sky. It was the kind of afternoon that chilled you to the bone, the kind where your breath plumed like smoke in the frigid 4°C air. I stood there, my navy-blue airline uniform soaked through, clutching my scuffed flight rollaboard. Every shiver that wracked my slender frame wasn't just from the cold; it was from the humiliation Arthur Sterling, the unassuming man on the bench, had just witnessed.

Across from me, dripping with an arrogance that seemed to repel the very rain, stood Gregory Thorne. His camel cashmere overcoat was immaculate, a stark contrast to my drenched uniform. He held a heavy crystal glass, swirling a deep crimson wine as if it were the elixir of life itself. His sneer was a permanent fixture, his slicked-back dark hair untouched by the drizzle. He radiated entitlement, a spoiled billionaire heir accustomed to getting his way.

“A lowlife sky-waiter like you has no business stepping near these academy gates, Tommy!” Gregory’s voice dripped with venom, his lip curling in disgust. He looked me up and down, his eyes dismissive.

I remained silent, my jaw clenched, trying to swallow the lump of shame rising in my throat. My hands trembled as I gripped my suitcase tighter. All I wanted was to disappear.

Then, with a sudden, vicious movement, Gregory hurled his glass of wine. It exploded against my face, a high-speed spray of crimson liquid stinging my eyes, plastering my hair to my forehead, and soaking my crisp uniform shirt. The wet, slapping sound echoed in the sudden silence.

“Consider that a tip for your insolence on my flight!” Gregory sneered, his words laced with cruel amusement.

I stood frozen, the cold wine running down my face like tears. My breath hitched. My eyes widened, stinging from the alcohol and the sheer shock. All my years of service, my dedication to Apex Airways, felt utterly meaningless in that moment.

“I gave you five years of flawless service in first-class, Mr. Thorne…” I managed to choke out, my voice fragile and trembling.

Gregory merely smirked, crossing his arms, his eyes alight with cold satisfaction. But just as the shame threatened to consume me, a deep, commanding voice cut through the air.

“And that was your last time disrespecting my airline staff, Thorne!”

The voice belonged to Arthur Sterling, the quiet man from the bench. He had risen, his weathered face hardening into a mask of ferocious authority. His piercing blue eyes were locked onto Gregory, and the arrogant heir’s smirk instantly froze, replaced by a flicker of startled bewilderment.