"I'm sorry, but this flight is overbooked. We're going to compensate you twenty dollars. Please deplane immediately."

The head flight attendant had my suitcase in a death grip. Her tone wasn't a request—it was an order.

I gave her a cold look, then turned my gaze to the man beside us, who had just been escorted onto the plane, draped in designer labels.

"Why does he get to board after showing up late, while I—who paid full price—am being forced off?"

She let out a mocking laugh and lowered her voice to taunt me. "Because he's the son of a top-tier medical conglomerate in Scallow City. He's rushing there to beg an elusive miracle doctor—the famous Phantom Surgeon—to save his life.

"No matter how urgent your business is, can it really compare to a human life? If you delay Mr. Stafford, ten lives couldn't pay for it. Now get off."

Several security guards dragged me off the plane by force as I watched the cabin doors close.

I laughed in sheer disbelief.

The "Mr. Stafford" she was talking about was William Stafford, and he was terminally ill.

What she didn't know was that I was the very "Phantom Surgeon" his entire family had been on their knees begging for three months—pleading with me to fly to Scallow City and perform his surgery today.

Since they threw me off the plane, I won't be doing that operation.

As for William, he can go ahead and wait for death.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I made my way step by step to the ticket change and refund counter.

"I'd like a refund."

I slapped my ID onto the counter, my voice edged with irritation.

The staff member glanced at her screen, then gave me a once-over from head to toe before rolling her eyes. "Sorry, since you missed boarding for personal reasons, we can only refund the airport service fee and fuel surcharge—twelve dollars. The full ticket price isn't refundable."

I let out a laugh of pure anger. "Personal reasons? Your flight was overbooked. You forcibly removed a full-fare passenger—that's me—and you call that my personal reason?"

Her fingers clattered impatiently against the keyboard. "Who told you to make a scene in the cabin and disrupt order? You're lucky to even get this twelve dollars. Don't push your luck!"

Just then, the sharp click of high heels approached from a distance. The same chief flight attendant strode over arrogantly, her phone held up as she recorded.

"A broke nobody clinging shamelessly, trying to extort money from the airline—have you lost your mind from poverty? Not satisfied with the compensation? Trying to squeeze out more? Don't pretend to be so high and mighty."

She crossed her arms, her face dripping with mockery. "Twelve dollars isn't enough for you, is it? I'll post this online and let everyone see what a pathetic cheapskate you are. Maybe some kind-hearted people will even crowdfund for you!"

I stared at her unbearably smug face, forcing my anger down.

"You'll regret what you've done today."

She reacted as if she'd just heard the funniest joke in the world, laughing so hard tears nearly spilled from her eyes.

"Regret? Because of you? A nobody who can't even afford first class and has to squeeze into economy? Mr. Stafford booked out the entire first-class cabin. Even his bodyguards are sitting in business class! What are you, exactly, that you think you're worthy of making me regret anything?"

She suddenly spun around and shouted to the passengers passing through the terminal.

"Everyone, come take a look! This person refused to cooperate when the flight was overbooked and is now trying to extort the airline! Now, she's causing a scene at the counter, and this is seriously affecting everyone's travel. What an absolute disgrace to society!"

The surrounding passengers were instantly drawn in, their whispers rising one after another.

"Dressed like a decent person, but no manners at all."

"Exactly. The airline already compensated her, and she's still making trouble—must be desperate for money."

"Just get out of here. Stop embarrassing yourself!"

I ignored the onlookers and turned to the ground staff.

"A refund is fine. But you must clearly state, in black and white on the refund form, that this was caused by your airline's overbooking and forced denial of boarding."

Otherwise, when the Stafford family came knocking, they'd think I had deliberately breached the agreement. I would not take the blame for that.

The chief flight attendant's expression darkened. She slammed her hand against the counter.

"Dream on! We offered you a solution and you refused it, and now you want to smear our airline?

"Security! Are you all dead? Get this crazy woman out of here!"

Several airport security guards rushed over immediately, grabbing my arms on either side.

"Let go!"

I struggled with everything I had, but they ignored me, dragging me straight toward the airport exit.

As I passed the chief flight attendant, I couldn't help but remind her, "You'd better remember my face today. And every word you just said. Very soon, you'll be kneeling, begging me."

Not only was she unfazed, she kicked my suitcase over.

The already damaged case burst open completely. Clothes and specially prepared medicine spilled across the floor.

She stepped down hard, crushing one of the medicine bottles. The custom-made pills inside instantly turned to powder.

My heart dropped. That was the medicine I had personally prepared for William Stafford—there was only that one batch. Without it, he wouldn't survive the postoperative recovery period.

"Oh my, how careless of me," she sneered from behind, her tone dripping with mockery.

Countless phone cameras turned toward me in an instant. Waves of laughter and ridicule swallowed me whole.

I was thrown out of the terminal, hitting the concrete hard.

Like tossing out trash, she flung my luggage on top of me.

"Take your junk and get lost! Cause any more trouble, and we'll call the police on you for disturbing public order!"

Just then, my phone began vibrating wildly.

The moment I answered, a barrage of accusations came crashing through the line.

"What's going on with you?! The plane took off ages ago. I checked the passenger list—your name isn't even on it!"

It was the Stafford family's butler, his voice thick with reproach and arrogance.

"Our family went to great lengths to invite you. We even transferred the deposit, and now you pull this stunt at the last minute? Who do you think you are, making the Stafford family wait for you? If it weren't for your surgical skills, do you think you'd be qualified to treat our heir?"

I tried to explain that it was the airline's fault, but he wouldn't listen.

"I'm warning you—our heir's terminal illness cannot be delayed. If you're not standing in the operating room at Scallow City's Goldson Hospital before nightfall today, don't blame the Stafford family for what happens next!

"You took our money and dare to not do the job? Believe it or not, I can make sure you never work in the medical field again!"

The call ended with a sharp click, the busy tone ringing in my ear.

…

Suppressing the anger in my chest, I called him back.

The moment the line connected, the butler's impatient voice came through.

"What else do you have to say? Figure out a way to charter a plane and get here!"

"No need," I said coolly. "If you want to know why I didn't board, go ask the chief flight attendant of the flight William is on."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

I hung up without another word.

Then I opened my mobile banking app, found the 300-thousand-dollar "good faith deposit" the Stafford family had transferred earlier, and returned it in full—straight back the way it came.

The postscript contained only five words: Please find someone more capable.

300 thousand dollars might be an astronomical sum to others, but to me, it wasn't enough to offset the humiliation I'd suffered today.

After that, I blocked every contact from the Stafford family, cutting off all ties completely.

Looking at the crushed powder of my custom-made medicine scattered across the floor, I let out a cold laugh.

'William, your life is no longer my concern.'

I hailed a taxi and went straight back to the hospital.

The moment I sat down in my office, my phone began vibrating wildly again.

As soon as I answered, the hospital director, Dr. George Whitman's furious roar exploded through the line.

"Diana! What the hell are you doing?! The Stafford family has already called me! They said you caused trouble at the airport and even tried to assault William! The chief flight attendant only had you removed to protect him, and instead of reflecting on your actions, you even dared to return their deposit?!"

I froze for a second, then couldn't help laughing out loud.

That flight attendant's ability to twist the truth was truly impressive. To shirk responsibility for the overbooking, she had fabricated such an outrageous lie. Even more ridiculous was the Stafford family believing it without the slightest attempt to verify.

"The patriarch of the Stafford family has given his order. Get to Scallow City immediately, kneel and apologize to William, and proceed with the surgery at once! If you refuse, you're fired!"

I ignored the shouting on the other end, pulled out a blank sheet of paper, and quickly wrote my resignation letter. Then I went upstairs and pushed open the door to the director's office.

Dr. Whitman was still holding his phone. He froze when he saw me walk in.

I slapped the resignation letter down on his desk.

"No need for you to fire me. I quit."

He stared at the paper, eyes wide. "Are you out of your mind? Do you think resigning will let you escape this?"

I braced both hands on the desk and looked down at him.

"Dr. Whitman, I've been too tired lately. I'm planning to take an extended break out of town. If the Stafford family has the ability to revoke my medical license, let them. And if they want to blacklist me, then so be it."

With that, I turned and walked out.

"Stop right there! Get back here!"

His furious shouting trailed behind me, powerless and ineffective.

I didn't look back.

The timing should be about right.

William's terminal illness had been sustained solely by my custom medicine, keeping him alive by a thread.

Now the medicine was gone—and he was tens of thousands of feet in the air.

The onset of his condition… should be imminent.

…

After returning home, I turned off my phone, drew the curtains, and fell into a deep sleep.

Early the next morning, when I finally switched my phone back on, it was flooded with missed calls from the Stafford family.

Moments later, an unfamiliar local number came through.

As soon as I answered, a familiar voice rang out.

"Dr. Sullivan! Please come back to the airport immediately! Mr. Stafford is vomiting blood and has fallen unconscious on the plane!"

"The airline has specially approved a free business-class seat for you. They'll arrange a dedicated flight to take you to Scallow City!"

It was the same chief flight attendant from yesterday.

I let out a cold scoff, exposing her hypocrisy without hesitation.

"A free business-class seat? Didn't you call me a pathetic nobody who deserved to be thrown off the plane?"

"Cut the nonsense!" She was clearly panicking, though her tone remained as domineering as ever. "The Stafford family is putting pressure on the airline right now. If I lose my job because of you, I won't let you off! Get over here right now!"

I hung up immediately and blocked the number as well.

Less than half an hour later, loud banging suddenly erupted at my door.