NOVPUB
Chapter 160: Chapter 160 Colton Virelli
The flash of cameras lit the sidewalk like fireworks. Voices buzzed through the warm evening air, laughter and gossip swirling among the crowd that always lingered outside Novalight Models. It was a place of status, glamor, and artificial perfection. Every man in a suit, every woman in heels, every young hopeful model trying to catch a break—it was all staged like a fashion show, even in the street.
And then he arrived.
Pushing a rusty, squeaky cleaning trolley, hunched over like gravity had punished him more than age itself, came an old man no one had ever seen before.
"What the fuck...?" someone muttered from the edge of the crowd.
"Yo, who let this fossil out here?"
"He’s pushing a damn mop bucket—holy shit, he’s the janitor!"
"Dude stinks like expired milk, Jesus!"
"At least take a bath next time, old man!"
Liam didn’t say a word. He just kept pushing the trolley forward, his back hunched, his head slightly bowed beneath the faded janitor’s cap. His "wrinkled" hands, covered in the seamless skin-tight disguise, trembled slightly as if every step was a chore. His breathing was shallow, a soft wheeze escaping his throat from time to time.
Some people laughed. Others covered their noses. A few turned away entirely.
But there were also some... who stared at him differently.
"Poor guy..." one woman whispered to her friend. "He’s probably childless. Nobody should have to work like that at his age."
Her friend sighed. "Yeah. No one to take care of him. Damn."
Liam said nothing. Not even a glance in their direction. Let them believe whatever they wanted.
He rolled the trolley forward, up the wide stone steps of Novalight’s main entrance, and into the grand lobby. Polished marble floors reflected the sparkling chandelier above. A waterfall feature trickled softly near the entrance, and a massive screen displayed looping ads for upcoming Novalight campaigns.
At the reception desk sat a young woman—one so stunning that even Liam, focused as he was, paused for half a second in mild surprise. Long lashes, glossy lips, elegant bone structure, and a fitted silk blouse that hugged her form just right. She was the kind of receptionist only a modeling agency would hire. Beautiful, poised, and dangerously polite.
Her smile didn’t falter as Liam approached.
"Good evening, sir," she said, checking her monitor. "Name?"
He handed her a printed badge.
Harold Milton.
Her expression shifted for just a second—surprise flickering behind her eyes. She tapped the keyboard, brows furrowing as she scrolled down the page.
"Oh," she said softly. "We’ve... been expecting you."
Liam tilted his head slightly, the movement stiff and slow like a man well into his eighties. He said nothing. Just watched her behind those pale-blue contacts, staying perfectly in character.
The receptionist continued reading. "Looks like your cleaning assignment was submitted earlier today. But... strange." She paused, frowning. "It’s for the eighth floor, Office 804. That’s... Mr. Colton Virelli’s personal office."
She glanced up at Liam again, clearly hesitant.
But then she gave a soft, polite shrug. "Ah well, I’m not paid to question the higher-ups. Just follow the instruction, right?"
She smiled again, forced but professional. "Elevator’s down that hallway. Eighth floor. You’ll see his name on the door."
Liam nodded slowly, shakily, and turned toward the hallway. His trolley wheels squeaked in rhythmic protest as he rolled away from the desk.
The receptionist gave him one last look. "Poor old guy," she murmured to herself, shaking her head.
Liam pushed his cart into the elevator and pressed the button for the eighth floor. The metal doors began to close.
But then—a hand slid through, stopping the doors just before they sealed shut.
Four young men strolled in with arrogant grins, loud voices, and expensive jackets.
Liam recognized them instantly.
Ray... and his three friends. The same Ray he’d completely humiliated just yesterday by winning that $100,000 dart match. The same Ray who swore he’d get payback. If Ray had any idea the old man in the corner of the elevator was Liam Carter, things would turn bloody fast. But not for Liam.
Lucky for him he didn’t. None of them did.
"Ugh, what the hell is that smell?"
"Dude, is something rotting in here?"
"Shit, it’s the old janitor!" Ray coughed dramatically, waving a hand in front of his nose. "Jesus, man, you fart or you just bring it with you?"
Liam didn’t react. He just stared forward, lips slightly parted as if lost in thought. He even let out a soft cough and leaned more on his trolley, selling the performance down to the last breath.
"Yo, he looks like he’s about to drop dead," one of Ray’s friends whispered with a chuckle.
Liam let out a soft whistle as the elevator rose, the melody shaky and off-key, like an old man trying to remember a song from his youth. It made the whole moment even more uncomfortable.
Ray rolled his eyes. "Damn. Let’s just get to the party. Can’t wait to see what Colton’s got planned."
Liam’s eyes flicked up, just for a second.
So Colton was hosting something tonight. That made things even better.
As the elevator dinged on the eighth floor and the doors opened again, Liam gripped his trolley and shuffled forward, letting the others walk out ahead of him. His target was only steps away now.
Colton Virelli.
The man who tried to own Lana.
Tonight, his sins would come back to haunt him.
As the elevator doors slid shut behind him, Liam didn’t walk straight to Colton Virelli’s office. No—he moved silently down the hallway, sticking to the shadows like a ghost. He passed a few workers, some assistants, and a model or two—none gave him a second glance. Just another old janitor lost in his duties.
Perfect.
He took the corner quietly, disappearing into an empty corridor lined with exposed piping and electrical panels—probably where the real janitors did their business. Once inside, he flipped the latch behind him, opened his trolley’s secret compartment, and pulled out a tablet with a modified signal interceptor.
He hacked into Novalight’s private server in seconds.
It didn’t take long. Within five minutes, he was inside the event coordination log for the day. There it was, on the eighth floor conference calendar:
Recognition Ceremony – 7:00 PM
Colton Virelli, Office 804
Model Honoree: Amara L.
Liam’s eyes narrowed.
So that was the reason for the party. Not a company-wide celebration. Not even a product launch. No—this was personal. A little recognition party for Colton’s new favorite toy. Her portfolio was attached: twenty-five years old, glossy brown curls, warm brown skin, hourglass figure. Naturally photogenic. And clearly eager to climb.
Liam scrolled through her history. She had been modeling with Novalight for two years. But she only started getting exposure within the past two months. Same time frame as Lana’s conflict with Colton.
Figures.
He closed the tablet and slid it back into the trolley, then pushed it forward with the same slow, hunched movements.
It was time.
He emerged from the shadows, blending in once more with the polished corridor. He turned right and stopped just outside the door.
Colton Virelli
Director of Public Exposure and Brand Curation
Liam smirked.
"Public exposure," he muttered under his breath. "You got that part right."
He raised a hand to knock—but stopped as he heard something from inside.
Slurping. Wet. Slow. Repetitive.
Liam sighed and rolled his eyes.
He didn’t even need to see it. He already knew what was happening.
Then came the sound of lips pulling away with a soft pop.
"Mmm," a young woman’s voice cooed. "Thank you for the exposure, Mr. Virelli."
Colton’s voice followed, slow and smug, filled with the kind of power only predators like him abused. "If you keep up that good behavior, sweetheart, you’ll get even more exposure in the future. Front covers, global deals... You’ve got what it takes, Amara."
Liam clenched his jaw.
Good behavior?
Opening her legs for a man twice her age was now good behavior?
He shook his head, disgusted. His old face twisted with disdain, but he kept still. Until the next line came.
"By the way..." Amara said playfully. "So how was the plan with Lana? Were you successful?"
Liam froze.
His breath stilled. His entire body went cold.
Inside, Colton gave a frustrated grunt. "No. Complications. But I’ll handle it. No one says no to me and walks away clean. That girl thinks she’s special, but we’ll remind her just how disposable she is. I’ve got people working on the final step. Once she’s broken, nobody will stand in your way, Amara."
Silence.
A long, disgusting silence.
Liam’s fists trembled.
So this girl—Amara—wasn’t just another opportunist. She wasn’t just enjoying the benefits of her compromise. She was in on it. Actively working to ruin Lana, to destroy her. Pour acid on her face? Scar her for life? Rob her of the very beauty that kept her afloat in this twisted industry?
Liam’s knuckles cracked around the handle of his trolley. He could hear everything—the shifting of clothes, the rustle of movement, the pleased sigh Colton gave as he zipped up.
If only they knew.
If only they knew what stood just behind their door.
The mask on Liam’s face felt tighter now, like it was growing hot from the wrath building underneath. But still, he didn’t burst in. Not yet.
This wasn’t a job to be done in a rush. This wasn’t a fight in a back alley or a gang war in the night.
This was personal.
He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a second.
Then, like a silent executioner, he reached forward... and gripped the doorknob.
It was time to collect the bill.
****
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