No Cure For Your Arrogance Chapter 1

The cabin door was seconds from hissing shut when the purser’s white-gloved hand clamped onto my suitcase like a vice, dragging me back toward the jet bridge.

"Flight’s overbooked. You’re getting a two-hundred-dollar voucher. Get off, now!" His grip was so tight I thought he’d leave indentations in the leather. Behind him, a woman in a vintage Chanel suit was being ushered toward First Class with the kind of reverent bowing usually reserved for royalty.

"I paid full price for this seat," I said, wrenching my handle away. My heels clicked a sharp, defiant rhythm against the metal floor. "She’s thirty minutes late. Why does she get priority?"

The man leaned in, his gold cufflink grazing my cheek as he sneered into my ear. "That is Madeline Sampson, heiress to the Sampson Biotech empire. She’s flying to recruit a world-class specialist to save her life. A nobody like you is a rounding error. If she dies because you took up space, you couldn’t pay the bill in ten lifetimes."

As four security guards grabbed my shoulders, I saw Madeline slide her oversized sunglasses down. On her wrist was a limited-edition emerald prayer strand—the one my mother had left me. Three months ago, her father had practically crawled to my clinic door, offering that very heirloom in exchange for his daughter’s life.

As the engines began to roar, I pulled out my phone and blocked the contact labeled 'Sampson Family.' If they thought money could buy them a shortcut to the front of the line, they could enjoy the view from the ICU. In this world, some things can’t be fixed with a black card and a sense of entitlement.

* * *

I dragged my suitcase toward the customer service counter, my blood simmering just below the surface.

"I want a refund," I said, slapping my ID onto the marble.

The agent glanced at the screen, gave me a once-over that lingered on my off-brand coat, and rolled her eyes. "Sorry, honey. This is a 'voluntary' denial of boarding due to a disturbance. We can only refund the taxes and fees. That’s about sixty bucks. No luck on the fare."

I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "Voluntary?"

"Your airline overbooked. You forcibly removed a paying passenger. How is that on me?"

She tapped her keyboard with manicured nails, her face a mask of practiced indifference. "The report says you were disruptive and endangered the safety of the cabin."

"You’re lucky you’re getting the sixty bucks," she added, her voice dropping to a condescending purr. "Don’t be ungrateful."

Just then, the sound of polished Oxfords echoed through the terminal. The purser from the gate marched over, his phone held up like a weapon, recording me.

"Look at this," he said to the camera, his voice dripping with theatrical disdain. "Another grifter trying to shake down the airline. She’s desperate for a payout."

He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "Two hundred wasn't enough for you? Maybe if I post this, some 'GoFundMe' suckers will throw you a few cents out of pity."

I stared at his smug face, forcing my breathing to stay even. "You are going to regret every word that comes out of your mouth today."

He laughed so hard I thought he might choke. "Regret it? From a girl who can’t even afford a business class upgrade? Miss Sampson booked the entire First Class cabin. Her bodyguards are sitting in Premium. Who the hell are you supposed to be?"

He spun around, shouting to the crowded terminal. "Hey, everyone! Check out the scammer! She blocked a life-saving flight for a terminal patient because she wanted to extort us for more money! This is what’s wrong with the world!"

A few travelers stopped to stare, whispering.

"She looks decent, too. What a shame."

"Just take the voucher and go, lady. Stop holding up the line."

"Total trash."

I ignored the gallery. I looked at the agent. "Fine. Give me the refund. But you will write it in black and white on the receipt: Denied boarding due to overbooking."

I wasn't about to let the Sampsons think I’d intentionally breached our contract. I wouldn't carry that cross for them.

The purser’s face darkened. He slammed his hand on the counter. "In your dreams! You refused our solution. Security! Why are you just standing there? Throw this lunatic out!"

The guards grabbed my arms again, more roughly this time.

"Let go!" I struggled, but they dragged me toward the sliding glass doors of the exit.

As we passed the purser, I looked him dead in the eye. "Remember my face. Remember what you said. Because very soon, you’ll be the one begging."

He didn't blink. Instead, he kicked my suitcase. The latch, already stressed, snapped open.

Clothes, journals, and several vials of amber liquid spilled across the concrete. He stepped forward and ground his heel into the glass vials, crushing them into a fine powder.

My heart stopped.

That was the stabilizing serum I’d spent months synthesizing for Madeline Sampson. It was the only batch in existence. Without it, she wouldn't survive the post-op recovery phase.

"Oops," the purser mocked. "My bad."

Cell phone cameras captured my shock, the laughter of the crowd ringing in my ears like a funeral dirge. I was shoved out onto the sidewalk, my broken suitcase tossed onto my lap like trash.

"Get lost, loser. If you come back, we’re calling the cops for trespassing."

My phone vibrated violently in my pocket. I answered.

"Where the hell are you?" a voice barked. It was the Sampson family’s estate manager, his tone thick with aristocratic arrogance. "The flight took off. I checked the manifest. Your name isn't on it."

"We spent a fortune to secure your time. We even wired the deposit. And you choose now to play prima donna?"

"You think you’re special? You’re a hired hand. If your surgical record wasn't flawless, you wouldn't be allowed to breathe the same air as Miss Madeline."

I tried to explain the airline’s "overbooking," but he cut me off.

"Listen to me carefully. Our mistress doesn't have time for your excuses. If you aren't in the surgical theater at Mercy General by sunset, the Sampson family will ensure you never practice medicine in this country again. You took our money. Now do your job, or we'll ruin you."

The line went dead.