Chapter 11
1412 Words
The clock glowed 2 AM when Clarissa finally slammed her laptop shut, frustration crystallizing into something sharp and bitter. Her eyes burned, her spine ached from hours hunched over the keyboard, and she'd barely scraped through a quarter of the research.
The trial database David had provided was deliberately crippled—she could feel the malice in its limitations.
"F*ck," she whispered, then immediately regretted the profanity.
But civility had its limits, and she'd reached hers hours ago. She felt like a gladiator forced into the arena with a blunted sword, facing down a starving lion with nothing but pride and desperation.
In a moment of weakness, she opened a new browser tab. Her fingers trembled as she typed: "CEO David William."
Maybe she could find something—anything—that might explain how the awkward boy she'd known had transformed into this untouchable force. A weakness she could exploit. Or at least some clue about who he'd become, what had forged him into this.
The search results unfurled like a banner of worship: "Young CEO Revolution: How David William Built an Empire at 28." "The Untouchable: David William's Rise to Power." "Business Mogul's Secret to Success." Headlines that genuflected before his success.
Clarissa clicked through each article with growing desperation. Every piece sang hymns to David's business brilliance, his visionary strategy, his natural leadership. But they felt hollow—sanitized.
No childhood photos. No family stories. No educational background beyond vague mentions of "prestigious institutions." Even ITB, their shared university, was conspicuously absent from every biography. As if David William had sprung fully formed from the corporate ether, immaculate and history-less.
"Impossible," Clarissa murmured, scrolling deeper—page two, three, four. Her search grew frantic. This David William was too perfect, too clean.
She tried a different approach, typing "David" paired with "ITB," "Business Management," their graduation year. The results mocked her with their emptiness. Nothing. As if he'd never existed at all.
Every search led to dead ends. The David she'd known had been systematically erased, buried so deep that not even Google could resurrect him.
"You really killed him, didn't you?" she whispered to the screen. "But I know you're still in there, behind that ice-cold mask. Your eyes can't lie."
But her curiosity had become compulsion. She opened f*******:, i********:, LinkedIn, even obscure platforms she'd forgotten existed. She searched every variation of his name, every possible connection.
The result was always the same sterile void.
David's LinkedIn existed—professional, pristine, corporate. No candid photos, no glimpses of personality, no trace of humanity. Just achievements arranged like medals on a uniform. A robot in an expensive suit.
"You built yourself a new identity," Clarissa stared at his profile picture—black suit, razor-sharp gaze, a smile that never reached his eyes.
"But those eyes... those eyes are still the same."
Once gentle and innocent, now cold and calculating, harboring promises of revenge.
Desperation drove her to her phone. Maybe old classmates had information the internet had swallowed. She scrolled through her contacts, searching for survivors from their university days.
First call: Lara, her former study partner.
"Hello, Lara? It's Clarissa. Sorry for calling so late..."
"Clarissa! God, it's been forever! What are you doing awake at this hour?"
"I need information about an old classmate. Do you remember David? The one who used to..."
A pause. "David? Which David?"
"The quiet one. Thick glasses, always wore plaid shirts."
"Oh! The one who had that massive crush on you? The guy you turned down?" Lara's laugh was thoughtless, unaware of how each word twisted the knife.
"Yes, him. Do you know what happened to him after graduation?"
"Honestly? No idea. After we graduated, he just... vanished. Nobody's heard from him since. Why? What's this about?"
Clarissa bit her lip. "Just curious. Thanks, Lara."
The second call: Daniel, who used to organize campus events.
"Clar? Do you know what time it is? I thought someone died."
"Sorry, Dan. Quick question—do you remember David from our class?"
"David... which one? I knew several Davids."
"The shy one. Glasses, kind of antisocial."
"Oh! The one who was obsessed with you? The guy you totally destroyed that one time?"
Each mention of that rejection felt like a rusted blade between her ribs. "Yes. Do you know what happened to him?"
"No clue. He disappeared completely after graduation. Cut all ties with everyone."
The pattern held through three more calls. David had vanished so thoroughly it was as if he'd never existed.
The final call was to Bella, the campus gossip queen.
"Clarissa? Why are you calling at this ungodly hour?"
"Bell, I need to ask about David. Do you remember him?"
"David? Oh my God, yes! The poor guy you absolutely annihilated? That was brutal, Clar. I still remember the look on his face."
Clarissa flinched. "Do you know what happened to him afterward?"
"No idea. After that incident, he became a ghost. Rarely showed up to anything, then vanished completely after graduation. I tried stalking him on social media once out of curiosity, but found nothing. Why? Finally feeling guilty about what you did?"
The question hit its mark, piercing straight through her defenses. "No, just curious."
"Well, if you ever find him, you owe him an apology. That was cruel, even for you."
After ending the call, Clarissa stared at her phone with a hollow ache in her chest. Everyone said the same thing.
No trace. No contact. No evidence he'd ever existed.
Now she understood why.
David had died, and William had risen from his ashes. A complete metamorphosis—the broken cocoon transformed into something beautiful and deadly.
But such radical transformation didn't happen overnight. There had to be a story behind it. Pain, struggle, and an iron will to completely remake himself.
Clarissa returned to her laptop, trying more specific searches: "David William company history," "David William early career," "David William background."
The information remained surface-level. The company had emerged seemingly overnight with explosive growth and an impressive client base. But there was nothing about initial capital, early investors, or his path to success.
"Rich parents?" she wondered aloud. But she remembered the old David—threadbare clothes, shoes with peeling soles, a laptop bag held together with duct tape. Definitely not from money.
"Self-made genius?" Perhaps David had possessed natural talent in tech, building a successful startup from nothing. But to reach CEO level by twenty-eight, with a company this size—that required more than talent. That required something else.
Every possibility led to more questions.
But one thing became clear: to achieve such radical transformation, David must have experienced something traumatic, life-altering. A brutal catalyst.
"Me," Clarissa whispered, the realization hitting like a physical blow. "I was his trauma."
The humiliation that had made him a laughingstock. The rejection so devastating he couldn't face anyone from his past. She had destroyed him so completely that he'd had to kill himself to survive.
"Dear God," Clarissa covered her face with her hands.
David had proven her wrong about everything. He'd become successful, powerful, untouchable—everything she'd once declared impossible for him.
But with that power came the ability to destroy her as completely as she'd once destroyed him.
Karma had finally come calling, and now it was her turn to face the consequences.
Clarissa closed the laptop with a mixture of resignation and newfound resolve. She wouldn't find David's weaknesses on the internet. He was too careful, too strategic, too determined to leave any vulnerability exposed.
If she wanted to survive this game of revenge, she'd have to face him directly. No shortcuts. No easy escapes.
But first, she had to complete this impossible project.
Prove she wasn't the spoiled girl she'd once been.
Prove she was worthy of a second chance.
Though deep down, she knew David might never grant her that redemption. Some wounds cut too deep to heal.
She would try anyway. Because now she understood—this wasn't just about work. This was about proving people could change. That she wasn't who she used to be.
Taking a shaky breath, Clarissa opened her laptop again. Back to the endless data, the crushing deadline, the battle that seemed impossible to win.
But she would fight. For what remained of her dignity, for the possibility of redemption, and for the chance—however slim—that someday David might see that she had changed.
That she was sorry. Desperately, completely sorry.
- Writer
