3 Stories Where Selfish People Got What They Deserved

What happens when entitled people finally push too far? In these three gripping stories, selfishness meets its match. These tales prove that sometimes, karma doesn't just knock. It kicks down the door.

Each of these real-life-inspired stories reveals the explosive consequences of unchecked arrogance.

You'll meet everyday heroes who stood their ground, exposed the truth, and turned humiliation into poetic justice.

If you've ever wished to see a rude person get exactly what they deserve, this is your kind of read.

I Served a Rich Couple on a Plane, Next Day My Mom Introduced Me to Her Young Fiancé from the Same Plane

I've been a flight attendant long enough to know every kind of passenger.

The stressed-out first-time flier, the honeymooners, the ones who refuse to turn off their phones… I've seen it all.

But nothing could've prepared me for the couple in 3B and 3C.

They were in business class on a route I'd worked dozens of times. She was beautiful, younger than him, and clearly used to luxury.

He was smug, polished, and acted like he owned the skies. The second I greeted them, I knew they were going to be a problem.

He snapped his fingers at me. Snapped.

Like I was a server in some 1950s drama, not a trained professional in charge of passenger safety.

He mocked the way I spoke and rolled his eyes when I reminded him to buckle up before descent.

I smiled through it. I was counting the minutes until landing.

I didn't think I'd ever see them again.

But that evening, I headed to my mom's house for dinner. She said she had big news.

She told me that I was finally going to meet her new fiancé. She sounded giddy on the phone.

When I walked into the living room… I nearly dropped my bag.

There he was.

The guy from 3 B.

He was smiling like we were old friends. Holding my mom's hand.

"Hey! Great to finally meet you," he said. "Your mom has told me so much about you!"

I stared at him, stunned.

"It's you," I whispered before catching myself.

At that point, I excused myself and pulled my mom into the kitchen.

"Mom, I served that man on a flight just yesterday. He was traveling with another woman. They were all over each other."

She was clearly confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean it. He mocked me. Snapped his fingers at me like I was a servant. He was with a younger woman and they were acting like they were a couple."

She shook her head. "You must have misread the situation."

"I didn't. I know what I saw."

"Kristi," she said, lowering her voice, "he's charming. He just has a dry sense of humor. You might've taken it personally."

"No, Mom. This isn't about pride. I know his type. He treats people like dirt. I'm telling you, this guy isn't who he says he is."

She rolled her eyes. "Please don't ruin this for me."

Feeling helpless, I swallowed my frustration. Mom wouldn't hear me out. She wasn't ready to believe that her fiancé wasn't the man he was claiming to be.

But I didn't feel like giving up.

If she couldn't see him for who he was right now, I was going to make sure she eventually did.

***

The next day, I marched into the airline office.

"Good morning," said the woman at the front desk.

"I need to check the passenger list from my last flight," I said. "It's important."

She raised a brow. "That's confidential."

"It's not for me," I said quickly. "A passenger lost something. Jewelry. I want to help return it."

And that was true. I'd heard Isabella say she'd lost her ring.

A few minutes later, I had Isabella's contact information. I called her immediately.

We agreed to meet the next morning at a hotel café.

She looked exactly the same. Flawless, elegant, and shocked to see me.

"You were the flight attendant on my last trip, weren't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "and that's why I called. I found something. And… I need to tell you something about Edwin."

She looked at me with wide eyes.

I explained everything, including how Edwin was engaged to my mother and how my mom refused to believe I'd seen him with another woman on a flight.

Her expression darkened. "I knew something was off. He asked me for money recently. A large sum. Said it was for an emergency. I haven't given it to him yet."

I leaned in. "Then we can stop him. Let's set him up. Get it on record."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Let's burn him."

We spent an hour planning.

We decided she'd arrange to meet Edwin at a restaurant. I'd be there, disguised as a waitress, and we'd record everything.

The moment he asked for money, we'd get it all.

***

Two days later, Isabella sat at a candlelit table in an upscale restaurant, swirling her wine.

I stood nearby in a wig and uniform, pretending to reset cutlery.

Edwin walked in, suave as ever.

"Isabella, my dear," he began. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

She smiled. "No problem. Should we order wine?"

"Excellent idea."

I stepped up, poured the wine, and melted into the background. He didn't even look at me.

"I was thinking," she said coyly, "instead of wiring the money, maybe I'll gift you something. Jewelry. Like you gave me."

He perked up. "Really? That's generous."

He pulled out his phone, showing her options. Cartier. Rolex. Louis Vuitton.

That's when I saw my chance.

I "accidentally" spilled wine on his white shirt.

"Damn it!" he barked.

"I'm so sorry!" I said, feigning panic. "I'll grab napkins."

During the chaos, I swapped his unlocked phone with a decoy and slipped into the restroom.

Once I was away from him, I searched fast. I found dating apps and messages from multiple women. Bingo.

He had dozens of conversations with the same lines and the same fake emergencies.

I snapped photos. Then I crafted a message to one of them.

But just then, I heard him yell from outside.

"I know you're in there with my phone! Come out now!"

He banged on the door.

"I'm calling the police!"

I froze.

Then opened the stall with his phone in my hand.

"Give it back!" he growled, stepping toward me.

I backed up. "Stay away."

But he lunged.

***

At the police station, I sat under fluorescent lights while an officer gave me a stern look.

"You're lucky Mr. Edwin hasn't pressed charges," he said. "You need to leave this alone."

"I was trying to protect my mom."

"Good intentions don't excuse what you did."

Before I could respond, my mom burst in.

"Kristi," she said coldly. "This isn't the daughter I raised."

"Mom—"

"No," she snapped. "You broke the law. Edwin filed a restraining order. I don't want to see you again."

Then she turned and walked out.

***

A week passed.

I met Isabella again at the hotel bar.

"I heard what happened," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I lost my mom over this," I murmured. "But before things blew up, I changed Edwin's dating app password."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's genius."

I grinned. "Let's log in and warn the others."

We spent hours sending messages to dozens of women.

"Beware of Edwin. He's a liar and a scammer. Protect your heart and your wallet."

By midnight, we had built a small army.

And our final move was supposed to be on Edwin and Mom's wedding day. It would turn his world upside down.

***

The wedding day came.

Edwin stood in front of a chapel, adjusting his tuxedo, while my mom looked radiant in ivory.

But as the ceremony began, murmurs spread through the pews. Then there was this unmistakable sound of high heels. Dozens of them.

Click. Clack. Click.

One woman stood in the front.

"Scammer!" she shouted.

Then another one stepped forward, "He's a liar!"

Dozens more rose.

"You won't get away with this!" another young woman shouted.

And just like that, the ceremony collapsed into chaos.

Someone lobbed cake at him, while someone else tripped him.

Soon, the police were called.

Edwin was dragged away in handcuffs, covered in frosting and lipstick.

My mom stood frozen.

When she finally turned, I stepped out from behind a tree, ready to catch her gaze.

But she shook her head… and walked away.

Maybe she wasn't ready to forgive me yet.

But I had saved her.

And that was enough. For now.

Waiter Mocked Me for Letting My Daughter Choose a Burger as Her Birthday Gift, but Karma Got Him Good

It was my daughter's birthday.

She had just turned nine. And when I asked her what she wanted more than anything in the world, she didn't say a new toy or an expensive gift. She didn't ask for a phone, or a party, or even a cake.

She looked at me, her hands folded under her chin like she was making a wish already, and said, "Just a burger from Dale's Diner. The one with the crinkle fries and the soft white bun. Please, Mama. That's all I want."

That was her "little dream," as she called it.

And how could I possibly say no?

I had a few bills tucked away in an envelope above the fridge. It was the money I'd set aside for groceries or gas.

It wasn't much, but when I looked into her hopeful eyes, I knew it didn't matter. Dreams cost something too, and this one I could afford.

We got ready together like it was a special occasion, because it was.

She wore her yellow dress with the daisies stitched into the collar.

I curled her hair just like Grandma used to and tied it with a sky-blue ribbon that matched her eyes. I wore my cleanest jeans, a soft blouse, and my pearl earrings. I even dabbed on a little perfume I hadn't touched in over a year.

As we walked down the sidewalk hand-in-hand, Emily skipped beside me and kept whispering, "Mama, I can't believe it. It's really happening. I'm really going to eat inside Dale's!"

That diner had been her dream for a long time. We'd passed it hundreds of times.

Every time, she'd always press her nose to the window, staring at the people laughing inside, imagining what it might be like to sit in one of those shiny red booths, order from a menu, and have someone bring her food wrapped in wax paper.

When we stepped through the door that evening, the warmth of the place wrapped around us like a hug.

A hostess smiled at us and led us to a booth by the window. Emily slid into the seat and pressed her palms to the table, her eyes wide as she looked around.

"This is the best day ever," she whispered, and I felt something twist in my chest.

Then came the waiter.

He couldn't have been more than nineteen. He had slick brown hair, a crooked nametag that read "Logan," and a half-smile that looked like he was chewing something sour on one side of his mouth.

"Welcome to Dale's. I'm Logan," he said flatly.

Emily straightened up and pointed to the menu. "I want that one. The Birthday Burger."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Birthday, huh?"

She nodded.

He walked off with the order, and she turned to me, beaming. "It's just like the pictures. Even better."

A few minutes later, Logan returned, balancing a tray with a burger and fries. He dropped the plate in front of Emily, and then leaned in, loud enough for the whole aisle to hear.

"REALLY? THIS IS HER BIG BIRTHDAY WISH?!"

Then he laughed.

It was a full, cruel laugh. The kind you give when you want others to join in. And some did. A man at the next table snorted. One of the other waiters looked over and smiled.

And Emily's hands froze over her fries. But he kept going.

"Man, that's just sad. I mean, when I was her age, Dad gave me a phone. Then a car. And guess what? This year he's giving me this diner. That's our deal. Once I put in my hours here, it's mine."

He looked right at my daughter.

"And she's getting a burger."

My face flushed with heat.

I opened my mouth slowly. "Logan, that's enough."

He just smirked.

"No offense, lady. It's just... this is kinda pathetic."

That was it. I stood up, my jaw tight.

"Come on, honey," I said, reaching for Emily's hand.

She stared down at her plate, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

"But I haven't finished—"

"We're leaving."

She grabbed my hand, and we started toward the door.

And then, just as we were about to leave, a voice came from behind us.

"Ma'am. Wait."

I turned.

An older man, maybe in his sixties, stepped out from behind the counter. His shirt was crisp white and his apron was spotless.

He approached us slowly but with purpose, his eyes calm and serious.

"I saw what happened," he said. "Please don't go. Let me fix this."

Emily clutched my hand tighter.

I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't want to stay. I didn't want to see Logan's face again, or risk my daughter being humiliated even further.

But the man knelt slightly so he was eye-level with Emily and gave her a small smile.

"That burger looked pretty special. Was it as good as you dreamed it would be?"

She nodded once, her lower lip still trembling.

"Good," he said gently. "You deserve to try anything you want."

He stood up, turned toward the staff, and called out:

"Get them a new booth. And send Logan to the back. Now."

"Are you… the manager?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"No, ma'am. I'm Dale. I own this place. You can order anything you want, it's on me."

It took a moment for that to register.

Dale. The Dale.

He looked toward the kitchen and then back at me.

"Logan's my boy. He may inherit this place someday," he said with a heavy sigh."But not until he learns the first rule of good food. It's to respect the customer."

We were seated again, this time closer to the kitchen, in a quieter spot.

Emily sat quieter now. She didn't reach for the fries. She barely looked up.

A few minutes later, Dale returned with Logan.

The cocky grin was gone. Logan stood stiffly with his gaze glued to the floor.

"I told you to come out here and make things right," Dale said, arms crossed.

Logan swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I shouldn't have said what I did."

He looked at me. Then turned to Emily.

"I was a jerk. And your burger choice? It was awesome. Seriously. Way better than any phone or car."

Emily looked at him through her lashes.

"Even if it wasn't a phone?" she asked.

Before he could respond, Dale answered for him.

"Especially because it wasn't. Real gifts come from the heart. Not a wallet."

The whole diner had gone quiet again. Then, I heard a soft clap. Someone smiled at us from across the aisle.

After Logan left, Dale sat down beside us.

"You raised her right," he told me.

I nodded, emotion catching in my throat.

"I try. I work nights at the clinic. But sometimes, it doesn't feel like enough."

He looked at me, then at Emily.

"It is enough. Love always is."

Then, he tapped the table gently and said, "From now on, you and your girl… your birthdays are on me. This booth, whatever you want. Every year."

I tried to refuse. Said it was too much. But he wouldn't hear it.

"It's not enough. You reminded me what this place is supposed to be. A celebration of people, not plates."

Emily finally smiled. She bit into her second burger, ketchup dripping down her wrist.

And just like that, the sparkle came back into her eyes.

As we left, Dale stood at the doorway and called out,

"Same time next year?"

I turned back, smiling through tears.

"Absolutely."

And for once, I truly believed the world had enough kindness left to keep a little girl's dream alive.

My Boss's Guests Treated Me Like Dirt Because I Was the Maid, but Everything Changed When I Showed Them My Ring

People often assume that maids are invisible.

That we exist to serve, not to be seen or heard. That because we clean up their mess, we must be messes ourselves.

For years, I let them believe that. I swallowed their smug smiles, their offhanded remarks, and the constant reminders that they were "above" me.

But that day, everything changed.

I worked at a rich estate… as a maid.

It wasn't glamorous, but it was honest. I didn't mind scrubbing floors or organizing pantries. What I minded was being treated like I wasn't even human.

It might've been bearable if it wasn't for the owner's daughter, Tris. That woman made my life miserable. She was mean, cruel, always threatening to fire me over nothing.

She'd call me in to clean things she purposely dirtied, just to remind me who was in charge. I stayed quiet because I needed the job, and I didn't want to lose the roof over my head.

I let the insults slide… until that day.

Tris had friends over.

They were the same kind of people. Aging socialites and trust fund loafers who had never worked a day in their lives. I was asked to serve them even though it wasn't in my contract.

I didn't argue. Not yet.

"Such a good maid you have," one of her friends remarked with a snide smile.

"Well, don't say that. Hailey could try harder," Tris shot back, looking straight at me.

They laughed. The man next to her, probably mid-fifties, added, "What can you expect from them? They're all idiots. She cleans, doesn't steal, and that's good enough."

"That's true," Tris said, sipping her wine. "Though I think some of my things have started disappearing…"

I wanted to scream.

The woman once left a diamond necklace in the fridge and blamed the staff until she found it next to a yogurt cup. She drank so much wine she forgot where she left her shoes, her phone, her purse. And now I was the one being accused?

"They're trash, I've always said that," the same man continued.

I looked toward the hallway and saw Margaret, Tris's mother, standing there quietly.

She didn't say anything, but she shook her head in disapproval. Her lips moved silently, "I'm sorry."

I nodded slightly.

I knew she didn't support this behavior, but in that moment, it wasn't enough.

Then a woman chimed in, "Exactly, all they know is how to steal and have babies. All my maids quit after a few months because they got pregnant."

And then Tris, with her wine glass dangling between her fingers, added, "I think the poor should be separated. They don't belong in our society."

And then she did it. She spilled coffee on me. Deliberately.

I gasped. The liquid was hot, and it soaked right through my blouse.

"Oh, don't dramatize," Tris scoffed, waving her hand. "It's just coffee."

"It hurts," I said, still standing there, shaking.

"You'll survive. You're just a maid," she said flatly.

That was it. My patience snapped like a rubber band stretched too far.

"I'm actually a human being," I said, my voice trembling. "And when all of this becomes mine, I'll throw you out at the first opportunity."

The room fell silent for a second, then the guests erupted in laughter.

Tris laughed the loudest.

"And what makes you think this will ever be yours?" she asked between gasps for air.

Without another word, I took off my glove and held up my hand, stretching it out in front of her.

That's when the room truly went silent.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the object on my finger. A diamond ring.

"WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GET IT?! THIS RING... WHERE DID YOU GET IT?! YOU THIEF! I'LL CALL THE POLICE RIGHT NOW!"

I didn't move. I didn't even blink. I just held my hand steady, making sure everyone in the room saw it.

"This ring is a gift from Margaret," I said quietly.

"You're lying! My mom would never give something so valuable as this ring to a commoner like you!" she screamed.

"But it happened," I replied calmly.

"You witch! Give me the ring! Now, or I'll call the police and have you locked up for life! Do you even know what this ring means?!"

"Yes," I answered, my voice clear. "The person Margaret gives this ring to will inherit all her property."

The guests began whispering and gasping, some standing up, some backing away.

"Exactly!" Tris shouted. "Which is why it belongs to me!"

Just then, a familiar voice echoed from the entrance to the room.

"No need for the police," Margaret said, walking in. "I really gave this ring to Hailey."

Everyone turned.

"What? Mom, have you lost your mind? She's nobody!" Tris shouted.

"She's more of somebody than you'll ever be," Margaret said firmly. "She's a person. She's smart. She's kind. And you? You're just a spoiled brat."

"How can you say that?!" Tris screamed.

"If Hailey had the opportunities you had, she'd be a great person by now. And you… pfft," Margaret said with a scoff.

"I'll sue her!" Tris screamed again.

"You can't do anything," Margaret said. "This is my will. And I'm still of sound mind. Hailey has more rights to this house than you do, and if I were in her place, I'd have kicked you out by now!"

"She wouldn't dare!" Tris cried, glaring at me.

"I really won't do that," I said, holding my ground. "Because unlike you, I believe everyone deserves the same treatment."

Tris's face twisted with rage.

"I'll make your life hell! I'll take the ring and make you suffer!" she shrieked.

"Well then, I'll have to kick you out," I said quietly.

"You! Who do you think you are?! You're just dirt!"

"Tris, pack your things," Margaret said. "Before Hailey and I call the police on you."

"I'll show you! You'll pay for this!" Tris screamed and ran out of the room.

Margaret came to me, her hand resting gently on my back.

"I've been waiting for the moment when you'd finally stand up for yourself and put her in her place. Well done," she whispered.

***

Three months earlier, none of this had seemed possible.

Back then, I was just the maid who swept corners no one saw and cleaned up messes no one acknowledged.

One evening, while cleaning the library, I picked up a book I loved.

Just for five minutes, I told myself. I'd worked a long day, and a few minutes with my favorite story wouldn't hurt.

But time slipped away. I was so caught up in the words that I didn't hear the door open until it was too late.

I looked up and saw Margaret standing there.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I just wanted to read for five minutes—" I stammered.

She waved it off. "Don't worry, child, it's fine. Everyone needs a break. Do you like reading?"

"Yes, very much," I replied.

"Do you have any education?" she asked gently.

"Just school. After that, I started working to support my family. My mom got sick… we spent everything on her treatment, but she didn't make it. Now I'm trying to save up for college."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, genuinely. "But what's this?" she asked, holding a wooden pillbox I had made.

"I noticed you weren't sure whether you'd taken your medication, so I made that to help," I said.

"You made this?" she asked, surprised.

"My grandfather taught me woodworking."

She looked thoughtful. "You can use the library as much as you like. But I have one condition. I need a companion. Someone intelligent I can talk to. Be my friend. And your salary will increase."

"No," I said instinctively. "I mean… not the money part. I won't take money for friendship. It doesn't feel right."

"That's not your choice," she replied with a smile.

"But I'd be glad to get to know you better. I think I could learn a lot from you."

"Just don't tell my daughter. She'll lose her mind," she warned with a wink.

"Of course, ma'am."

"We're friends now. Call me Margaret."

From that day on, things changed. We had tea, played chess, and talked about everything from books to politics. And Margaret… she became something of a mentor to me.

One day, she gave me the ring.

"It's not just a ring," she said. "It's a family heirloom. And the one who holds it, inherits everything."

Now I wear it proudly, not because it means wealth or power, but because it symbolizes something no one ever gave me before.

Dignity, respect, and a future I never thought I'd have.

And the best part?

I didn't need to raise my voice to earn it.

I just had to raise my worth, to myself first.

If you enjoyed reading this compilation, here's another one you might like: Betrayal doesn't always announce itself. Sometimes, it hides in a dinner invitation, a child's toy, or a smug smile across a restaurant booth. And when it finally surfaces, it doesn't just hurt, it rewrites everything you thought you knew about love, loyalty, and trust.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided "as is," and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.