When I booked a premium seat, I never expected to be deceived by a cunning couple. As I got comfortable, a well-dressed woman approached with her companion, insisting I switch seats because she had accidentally booked the wrong one and needed to sit with her “husband.” When I hesitated, she scoffed that I didn’t “need the extra space,” while he pressured me to be “reasonable.”
Recognizing their entitlement, I pretended to comply, already plotting my response.
Later, a flight attendant revealed the couple had lied—both their tickets were for row 12. I informed the chief purser, who confronted them. Their confidence shattered when the woman, in a panic, admitted they weren’t even married—she was his mistress.
By the flight’s end, their arrogance had turned to humiliation. As I exited the plane, I smirked, satisfied that justice had been served without lowering myself to their level.
