Billionaire Heir Attacks Flight Attendant, But Airline Founder's Revenge Changes Everything!

The Founder's Decree

The ballroom had fallen into a stunned silence, every eye fixed on the unfolding drama. Julian Vance, the billionaire heir, was trapped in Arthur Sterling’s unyielding grip. Julian’s frantic, stammering rage filled the void left by the gasping crowd.

"Let go of me, old man! Do you have any idea who my father is?! I'll buy your pathetic life and erase you!"

Sterling remained impassive, his steely-gray eyes narrowing. With a deliberate twist, he applied pressure to Julian’s wrist, forcing the younger man’s knees to buckle further, his arrogant posture crumbling onto the cold marble floor. The sheer power emanating from Sterling was palpable; he wasn't just defending me, he was dismantling Julian’s entire world with a single, controlled movement.

Then, Sterling’s free hand moved to his inner suit pocket. He withdrew a heavy, solid-titanium signet card, its surface gleaming with an engraved golden crest. With a resonant metallic clatter, he dropped it into the spreading puddle of red wine at Julian’s feet. I gasped, a wave of sudden realization washing over me as I recognized the unmistakable seal of the airline’s founder. The symbol of authority, of legacy, now lay submerged in the spilled wine, a potent metaphor for Julian’s disgraced state.

"Your father owns three percent of my airline—and as of right now, you are permanently banned from the sky."

Sterling’s voice was razor-sharp, chillingly authoritative. Julian’s pupils dilated, his face draining of all color as sweat beaded on his hairline. The arrogant smirk was gone, replaced by sheer, nauseating terror. The fight drained out of him, leaving him a trembling wreck. The threat was absolute, delivered not with a shout, but with a quiet, devastating finality. It was a decree that echoed far beyond the ballroom, a judgment that would ground the heir indefinitely.

Before Julian could utter another word, two hulking security officers emerged from the shadows. Their expressions were impassive as they clamped their hands onto Julian’s velvet shoulders, dragging him backward across the wine-stained floor. His eyes darted in helpless humiliation, a stark contrast to the man who had so contemptuously thrown wine in my face moments before. The crowd watched, a mixture of shock and morbid fascination on their faces. Sterling, his duty done, gently extended a pristine silk handkerchief to me, his eyes conveying a silent, paternal understanding. He nodded, a gesture of quiet reassurance. The air, thick with tension moments before, began to clear, leaving behind the unsettling quiet of a predator asserting its dominance.