The flight from Singapore to New York had been brutal, a fourteen-hour marathon of recycled air and turbulence, but Sebastian Cross didn’t feel a shred of fatigue. At forty-two, Sebastian was a titan of industry, a man whose signature could move markets and topple competitors. But as his private jet touched down on the tarmac, the shark of the boardroom melted away. In his place was just a dad, desperate to see his little girl.
It had been ninety days. Three months of video calls that froze and audio that lagged. Three months of missing the little things.
As he settled into the back of his armored Cadillac Escalade, he adjusted the massive, ridiculous teddy bear occupying the seat next to him. It was the size of a grown man, fluffy and brown, wearing a little aviator jacket. It was impractical and silly, exactly the kind of thing that would make eight-year-old Maya giggle until she got the hiccups.
“Straight home, Ramon,” Sebastian said, his voice thrumming with energy. “Don’t spare the horses.”
“Yes, Mr. Cross,” the driver replied, catching Sebastian’s eye in the rearview mirror with a warm smile. “Miss Maya is going to be over the moon.”
Sebastian smiled, leaning back and looking out the window as the Connecticut landscape blurred by. He thought about Maya. She was the spitting image of her mother, Elena, who had passed away three years ago. Maya had Elena’s bright eyes, her infectious laugh, and her stubborn refusal to eat broccoli. She was the only true thing in Sebastian’s life.
He also thought about Veronica.
He had married Veronica six months ago. She was beautiful, poised, and seemingly perfect. She had charmed Maya during their courtship, playing dolls and baking cookies. Sebastian had felt a profound sense of relief; he thought he had finally found someone to help fill the void Elena had left, someone to be a mother figure to Maya while he was off securing the family’s legacy.
“I’ll take care of everything, darling,” Veronica had told him at the airport three months ago, kissing his cheek. “Go conquer the world. The house and Maya are safe with me.”
He had believed her.
The iron gates of the Cross Estate swung open. The property was magnificent in the late afternoon sun. The manicured lawns were a vibrant green, the stone fountains were singing their aquatic melody, and the limestone façade of the mansion gleamed. It was a picture of American success.
But as the car crunched over the gravel driveway and came to a halt, Sebastian felt a prickle of unease on the back of his neck.
It was too quiet.
Usually, when he came home, even from a short trip, there were signs of life. A bicycle left on the porch. Chalk drawings on the driveway. The sound of pop music drifting from an open window.
Today, the house looked sealed tight.
“I’ll grab the bags, sir,” Ramon said, stepping out.
“Just bring the bear for now,” Sebastian said, already opening his door. He practically jogged up the steps. He fumbled with his keys, too impatient to ring the bell, and pushed the heavy oak double doors open.
“Maya! Daddy’s home!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the grand foyer.
He waited for the thundering sound of footsteps. He waited for the squeal of delight.
Silence.
Sebastian stepped further inside, the smile fading from his face. The air conditioning was humming, but the house felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. It smelled different. The comforting scent of vanilla candles and floor wax that usually permeated the house was gone. In its place was a heavy, cloying scent of expensive musk and lilies. It smelled like a funeral parlor, or a high-end department store where you weren’t allowed to touch anything.
He walked toward the main staircase, his eyes instinctively going to the wall above the mantle in the great room. That was where the family portrait hung—a beautiful, candid shot of Sebastian, Elena, and a baby Maya laughing on a beach in Maui. It was the heart of the home.
Sebastian froze.
The photo was gone.
In its place hung a massive, stylized oil painting of Veronica. She was posed like royalty, wearing a red dress, looking down imperiously. It was technically well-painted, but it was cold. It dominated the room, screaming ownership.
“What on earth…” Sebastian whispered.
“Sir?”
Sebastian spun around. It was Maria, the head housekeeper. She had been with the family since Maya was born. But Maria didn’t look like herself. Her uniform was rumpled, and her eyes were red-rimmed and darting nervously. She looked terrified.
“Maria,” Sebastian said, pointing at the painting. “Where is the family portrait? And where is Maya? Is she at school? It’s Saturday.”
Maria flinched. She looked toward the top of the stairs, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Mr. Cross… oh, thank God you are back. I tried to call, but…”
“But what? Where is my daughter?” Sebastian’s voice dropped an octave, the businessman returning, dangerous and demanding.
“She… Mrs. Cross said…” Maria stammered, wringing her hands. “Mrs. Cross said Maya was too loud. She said she was messing up the aesthetic.”
“The aesthetic?” Sebastian repeated, the word tasting like bile. “Where is she, Maria?”
Maria didn’t speak. She just pointed a shaking finger toward the rear of the house. Toward the patio doors.
Sebastian didn’t wait for another word. He dropped his briefcase and bolted through the living room. He threw open the French doors and stepped out onto the expansive stone patio.
The backyard of the Cross estate was huge—three acres of gardens, a pool, and a tennis court. Sebastian scanned the pool area. Empty. He looked at the tennis court. Empty.
Then, movement caught his eye near the far edge of the property, down by the old gardening shed where the landscaping crew kept their mowers and fertilizer.
Sebastian squinted. He saw a small, makeshift clothesline strung up between a tree and the shed. And there, kneeling in the dirt, was a small figure scrubbing a rug in a plastic tub.
Sebastian’s heart stopped.
He broke into a run, his expensive Italian loafers slamming against the grass. As he got closer, the figure became clearer.
It was Maya.
She wasn’t wearing her favorite colorful dresses. She was wearing an oversized, stained gray t-shirt that looked like a rag. Her hair, usually braided neatly, was a tangled mess. She looked thinner.
“Maya!” Sebastian screamed.
The little girl jumped, dropping the scrub brush. She whipped her head around, fear in her eyes. When she saw who it was, the fear didn’t vanish immediately—it lingered for a second, which broke Sebastian’s heart more than anything—before recognition set in.
“Daddy?” she whispered.
Sebastian hit the ground on his knees, not caring about the dirt, and scooped her up. She felt frail in his arms. She smelled like sweat and damp earth, not vanilla and crayons.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” he choked out, burying his face in her hair. “What are you doing out here? Why are you scrubbing a rug?”
Maya pulled back, wiping a dirty hand across her cheek. tears began to form in her eyes. “Veronica said I spilled juice on the white carpet,” she sniffled. “She said… she said clumsy girls don’t get to live in the showroom. She said I have to earn my keep if I want to come back inside for dinner.”
Sebastian felt a rage so pure and white-hot it nearly blinded him. “She made you sleep out here?”
Maya pointed to the gardening shed. “She put a cot in there. She said my room is being… re-decorated for her yoga studio. She said I make too much noise.”
Sebastian looked at the shed. It was a drafty, wooden shack filled with rusty tools and bags of mulch. It was 85 degrees out, but at night it would be damp and filled with spiders.
“How long?” Sebastian asked, his voice trembling.
“Since you left,” Maya whispered. “A week after you left. She took my iPad. She fired Nanny Sarah. She told Maria that if she called you, she’d make sure Maria never worked in this country again.”
Sebastian stood up, holding Maya effortlessly in his arms. He wasn’t just a father anymore; he was a force of nature.
“We’re going inside,” he said.
“But… the rug isn’t clean yet,” Maya said, looking terrified. “She’ll be mad.”
“Let her be mad,” Sebastian said darkly. “Let her be very, very mad.”
He marched back toward the house, carrying Maya. As he reached the patio, he saw movement in the kitchen. He kicked the door open with enough force to crack the wood.
He stormed into the kitchen, then through the hallway, and straight into the main living room.
Veronica was there. She was lounging on the bespoke white sofa, a glass of Chardonnay in her hand, scrolling through her phone. She looked up, annoyed by the noise, and her eyes went wide. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor, splashing wine onto the pristine white rug.
“Sebastian!” she gasped, her face draining of color. “You… you weren’t supposed to be back until Tuesday!”
“Clearly,” Sebastian said. His voice was terrifyingly calm. He set Maya down gently on the armchair, keeping a protective hand on her shoulder.
“Darling, look at you!” Veronica stood up, putting on a frantic, fake smile. “And look at Maya! Maya, honey, why are you so dirty? I told you not to play in the mud!”
“Stop it,” Sebastian said. The command was sharp like a whip crack.
Veronica froze.
“You turned my daughter’s bedroom into a yoga studio?” Sebastian asked, stepping closer.
“I… well, she wasn’t using the space efficiently, and I needed—”
“You made her sleep in the shed?”
“Sebastian, you’re overreacting. I was teaching her responsibility! She’s spoiled! She needs to learn the value of—”
“You fired the nanny and threatened the staff?”
Veronica’s mask slipped. Her eyes narrowed. “I am your wife, Sebastian! I am the lady of this house! I have the right to run this household as I see fit. That child is undisciplined and—”
“This house,” Sebastian interrupted, his voice rising, “is mine. This child is my life. You?” He looked at her with pure disgust. “You are a mistake.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. He put it on speaker.
“Security,” a voice answered.
“This is Sebastian Cross. I want the security team in the living room. Now.”
“Sebastian, please,” Veronica said, her voice turning into a whine. She tried to reach for his arm. “I did it for us! I wanted a peaceful home for when you returned! A mature home!”
“You wanted a trophy case,” Sebastian spat, pulling away from her touch. “You didn’t want a family. You wanted the money without the responsibility.”
The front doors burst open, and three uniformed security guards rushed in.
“Mr. Cross?” the lead guard asked.
“Escort this woman off the property,” Sebastian said, pointing at Veronica. “She has ten minutes to pack a bag. If she takes anything that she didn’t come here with—jewelry, clothes I bought her, anything—call the police and have her arrested for theft.”
“You can’t do this!” Veronica shrieked. “I’m your wife! I have rights! The pre-nup…”
“The pre-nup,” Sebastian said, stepping right into her face, “has a very specific infidelity clause. And abuse clause. And trust me, Veronica, treating my daughter like an indentured servant counts as abuse. You will leave here with nothing but the clothes on your back and your bruised ego.”
“I’ll sue you!” she screamed as the guards took her arms.
“Get in line,” Sebastian said coldly. “Get her out of my sight.”
As Veronica was dragged away, screaming obscenities that echoed through the empty halls, the house suddenly felt lighter. The tension broke.
Maria came running in, tears streaming down her face. “Mr. Cross, I am so sorry. I was so scared…”
Sebastian softened. “It’s not your fault, Maria. You were protecting your livelihood. But it’s over now.” He looked down at Maya. She was watching him with wide eyes.
“Is she gone?” Maya asked quietly.
“She’s gone, baby,” Sebastian said, kneeling down again. “She is never coming back. I promise.”
Maya threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “I missed you, Daddy. I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, sweetie,” Sebastian said, tears finally spilling onto his cheeks. “I brought you a bear. It’s in the car. It’s bigger than you.”
Maya giggled, a wet, hiccupping sound. “Really?”
“Really. And guess what else?”
“What?”
“We are going to order the biggest pepperoni pizza in the world. And we are going to eat it right here.”
“But…” Maya looked at the white rug stained with wine. “The rug.”
Sebastian looked at the rug. He looked at the painting of Veronica hanging above the mantle.
“Maria,” Sebastian said, standing up.
“Yes, sir?”
“Take that painting down. Burn it. Throw it away. I don’t care. Just get it off my wall.”
“With pleasure, sir.”
“And Maya?” Sebastian smiled, picking up a vase of flowers from the coffee table. He turned it over, dumping the water and flowers right onto the white rug next to the wine stain.
Maya gasped.
“It’s just a rug,” Sebastian said, looking into her eyes. “It’s just stuff. None of it matters. Only you matter. You can eat pizza on the roof if you want to. This is your home.”
Maya smiled, a real, beaming smile that lit up the room.
That night, the neighbors of the exclusive gated community might have been confused to see a bonfire in the backyard of the Cross estate. They might have wondered why the billionaire was sitting on his patio floor eating greasy pizza with his daughter while a giant teddy bear sat on the expensive sofa.
But Sebastian didn’t care. He had his daughter back. He had learned the hard way that a house is made of bricks and beams, but a home is made of love and safety. And he swore to himself, as Maya fell asleep against his chest, that he would never, ever leave his home unguarded again.
THE END
