He silenced his phone to close a multimillion-dollar deal… But the voicemail he played afterward sent him racing home to save his freezing daughter from her stepmother.
The engine of the Mercedes roared like a wounded beast as Javier cut across three lanes of traffic on Paseo de la Reforma, ignoring the blare of horns that trailed behind him. The rain wasn’t just falling anymore; it was hammering against the metal of the car, a rhythmic assault that matched the pounding in his temples.
“Dad… everything is spinning… I’m sleepy…”
Sofía’s voice, fragile and slurred, played on a loop in his mind. It drowned out the sounds of the storm. It drowned out the lingering high of the contract signing. It drowned out everything except the cold, hard knot of terror tightening in his gut.
Javier gripped the leather steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He was a man who solved problems. He fixed broken supply chains, negotiated hostile takeovers, and managed crises that would bankrupt lesser companies. But right now, with fifteen kilometers of wet asphalt between him and his daughter, he felt completely, utterly powerless.
He remembered when he introduced Raquel to Sofía two years ago. Raquel had been charming, elegant, the perfect picture of a caring maternal figure to a motherless child. How had I been so blind? Javier thought, slamming his hand against the dashboard. The signs had been there—subtle exclusions, veiled criticisms, the way Sofía became quieter, smaller whenever Raquel entered the room. He had written it off as adjustment pains. He had chosen to look away because business was booming, and he needed peace at home.
Now, that “peace” was costing his daughter her life.
He tore into the private driveway of his Las Lomas estate, the tires screeching on the wet cobblestones. The house looked like a fortress in the rain—dark, imposing, and silent. Too silent.
Javier didn’t bother shutting the car door. He sprinted to the front entrance, fumbling with his keys, his expensive Italian loafers slipping on the wet stone. He threw the heavy oak door open.
“Raquel!” he bellowed. His voice echoed through the high-ceilinged foyer, bouncing off the marble floors.
Silence.
“Sofía!”
He ran to the living room. It was immaculate. The fireplace was cold. The only light came from the streetlamps outside filtering through the sheer curtains. And there, in the corner, on the expansive beige sofa, sat a small, shivering lump.
Javier dropped to his knees.
Sofía was sitting exactly as she had said—upright, rigid. Her school uniform was plastered to her skin, dark with water. Her hair was matted against her forehead. Her lips weren’t just purple; they were almost grey.
“Sofi,” Javier whispered, his hands hovering over her, afraid to touch her, afraid he might shatter her.
She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were glazed, staring at a fixed point on the wall. She was trembling so violently that the sofa cushions vibrated beneath her.
“Daddy?” she rasped. The sound was barely a ghost of a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t move. She said… not to move.”
“Oh, God. Oh, my God.” Javier pulled off his suit jacket, wrapping it around her, then pulled her into his arms. She felt like a block of ice. The heat from his own body seemed to vanish the moment it touched her. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
He lifted her. She was alarmingly light.
“Is… is the carpet wet?” Sofía mumbled, her head lolling against his chest. “Raquel will get mad… if the carpet gets wet…”
A rage, pure and molten, erupted in Javier’s chest. It was a violence he didn’t know he possessed.
“Forget the carpet,” he choked out. “We’re going to the hospital.”
As he turned toward the door, a light clicked on at the top of the stairs.
Raquel stood there, wrapped in a silk robe, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She looked annoyed, the way one looks when a noisy neighbor wakes them up—not like a woman who had tortured a child.
“Javier?” She yawned, leaning against the banister. “Why are you shouting? You’re home early. I thought you were celebrating with the Germans.” Her eyes drifted down to the wet bundle in his arms. “And why are you holding her? She knows she’s not allowed on the furniture when she’s filthy.”
Javier stopped. The world seemed to narrow down to the woman standing on the stairs.
“Get out of my way,” Javier said. His voice was terrifyingly calm. It wasn’t a shout; it was the low rumble of an earthquake before the ground splits.
Raquel blinked, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. She took a tentative step down. “Excuse me? Javier, don’t be dramatic. She left the garage open. She needed to learn a lesson about responsibility. A little cold water never hurt anyone.”
“She is hypothermic, Raquel,” Javier spat, stepping closer to the stairs. “She is slurring her words. Her heart rate is dropping. You didn’t teach her a lesson. You tried to kill her.”
Raquel scoffed, though a flicker of fear crossed her face. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was just resting my eyes. I was going to let her change in a minute.”
“You left her for hours!” Javier roared, the control finally snapping. The sound made Raquel recoil against the wall. “She called me five times, Raquel. Five times begging for her life while you slept!”
Sofía whimpered in his arms, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Stay with me, Sofía. Stay awake, baby,” Javier pleaded, shifting his grip. He looked back up at his wife. The woman he had married. The monster.
“Miguel is calling the police,” Javier said cold. “And my lawyers. By the time I get back from the hospital, I want you gone. If you are still in this house, I will not be responsible for what happens to you.”
“You can’t do that,” Raquel shrieked, her entitlement flaring up over her fear. “This is my house too! You can’t kick me out over a brat being dramatic!”
Javier didn’t answer. He turned his back on her, shielding his daughter from the sight of her stepmother, and ran out into the rain.
Three Hours Later
The private room at the Santa Fe Hospital was quiet, save for the steady rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor.
Javier sat in a plastic chair pulled right up to the bedside, his hand clutching Sofía’s small, warm hand. They had wrapped her in thermal blankets and pumped warm fluids into her veins. The color had returned to her cheeks, a soft pink replacing the grey death-mask of earlier.
The doctor, an old friend of Javier’s family, had been grim but optimistic. “Another hour out there, Javier… and we would be having a very different conversation. Her core temperature was dangerously low.”
Javier rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. He hadn’t changed out of his damp clothes. He hadn’t checked his phone, which had been buzzing incessantly with calls from Miguel and his legal team.
Sofía stirred. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she squeezed his hand.
“Dad?”
“I’m here, princesa,” Javier said, leaning forward, his voice cracking. “I’m right here.”
She blinked, looking around the sterile room. “Where is Raquel?”
“Gone,” Javier said firmly. “She is never coming back, Sofía. Do you hear me? She will never, ever come near you again.”
Sofía looked at him with wide, solemn eyes. “She said you were too busy. She said you wouldn’t come.”
The words hit him harder than the rain. Tears, hot and heavy, spilled down Javier’s face. He kissed her forehead, burying his face in her hair, smelling the lingering scent of rain and antiseptic soap.
“I will always come,” Javier sobbed. “I don’t care about the meetings. I don’t care about the money. I’m sorry, Sofía. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it. I promise you, from now on, it’s just us. Nothing is more important than you.”
The door opened softly. Miguel, his assistant, stood there. He looked exhausted.
“Sir,” Miguel whispered. “The police took her statement. They found the security footage from the garage and the living room. It… it corroborates everything Sofía said. They arrested her, sir. Child endangerment and negligence to start.”
Javier nodded slowly, not looking away from his daughter. “Good. Tell the legal team to destroy her. I want her to have nothing. No settlement, no alimony, nothing.”
“Understood, sir.” Miguel hesitated. “And the German investors? They’re asking about the next steps.”
Javier looked at Sofía, who was drifting back to sleep, holding onto his finger as if it were a lifeline.
“Tell them to wait,” Javier said softly. “I’m taking a leave of absence. My daughter needs me.”
As Miguel closed the door, Javier leaned back. Outside the hospital window, the Mexico City rain continued to fall, but in the warmth of the room, holding his daughter’s hand, the cold finally began to recede.
