The Boy Without a Trace
658 Words
I shouldn’t be thinking about him.
I knew that.
Yet—
the moment I stepped into the car, his face was still there.
Those eyes.
That voice.
That attitude.
“Home, ma’am?” the driver asked.
“Yes.”
My voice sounded normal.
Too normal.
The city blurred past the window, but my mind didn’t move.
It stayed in that classroom.
With him.
Joseph Williams.
Why is he like that?
Who even acts like that with me?
By the time I reached home, I was already irritated.
At him.
At myself.
At the fact that I even cared.
I walked into the mansion, heels echoing against marble floors.
“Welcome back, Miss Stella.”
I ignored them.
Straight to my room.
Door shut.
Silence.
And then—
I picked up my phone.
Instagram.
Search.
Joseph Williams.
Nothing.
I frowned.
Scrolled again.
Different spellings.
Different combinations.
Nothing.
Excuse me?
Who doesn’t have i********:?
Is he living in 2005?
I opened LinkedIn.
Typed his name.
Several profiles.
None of them him.
I threw my phone on the bed.
Annoyed.
“You’re telling me,” I muttered, “this guy just… doesn’t exist?”
That made it worse.
Much worse.
Because now—
I was curious.
And I don’t like not knowing things.
I picked up my phone again.
This time—
I didn’t hesitate.
“Connect me to Rhea.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Two seconds.
That’s all it took.
“Miss Stella,” my secretary’s calm voice came through. “How can I help you?”
“I need information.”
A pause.
She knows that tone.
“On?”
“Joseph Williams.”
Silence.
Just for a second.
“From your university?”
“Yes.”
“Understood.”
I walked toward the window, watching the city lights.
Calm outside.
Restless inside.
“How detailed?” she asked.
“Everything.”
Another pause.
Then—
“I’ll get back to you within an hour.”
“Make it faster.”
“Yes, Miss Stella.”
Call ended.
I exhaled slowly.
This is ridiculous.
Why am I doing this?
He’s just—
My phone buzzed.
Twenty-three minutes.
That’s better.
I picked it up immediately.
“Go ahead.”
“Joseph Williams. Age 21. Computer Science major. Full scholarship.”
I stayed silent.
Listening.
“Topper in high school. State rank. Multiple academic awards. Consistent top scores.”
Of course.
That explains the attitude.
“Financial background—” she paused.
“Continue.”
“Lower income. Father works as a watchman.”
I didn’t react.
“Where?”
Another pause.
Slight hesitation this time.
“In… Rothschild Corporate Office.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What?”
“Yes, Miss Stella. His father is employed as a security guard in one of your father’s office buildings.”
For a second—
I didn’t speak.
That’s…
Unexpected.
“So,” I said slowly, “he studies in the same university as me… on scholarship…”
“Yes.”
“And his father works… for us.”
“Yes, Miss Stella.”
Silence.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“He has no significant social media presence. No public profiles. Minimal digital footprint.”
Of course he doesn’t.
“He lives in a small rented apartment near campus. No luxury assets. No… connections.”
I smiled slightly.
No connections?
We’ll see about that.
“Send me the full report.”
“Yes, Miss Stella.”
Call ended.
I stood there.
Still.
Joseph Williams.
Topper.
Scholarship.
No social media.
No distractions.
And a father who works under mine.
The irony.
I walked toward my mirror.
Staring at myself.
“This should be easy,” I whispered.
Two completely different worlds.
Power.
Money.
Control.
Versus—
discipline.
Silence.
Resistance.
I smiled.
Slow.
Dangerous.
“Let’s see how long you stay unaffected, Joseph.”
Because now—
this wasn’t just curiosity.
This was a game.
And I always win.
- Writer
