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Chapter 161: Chapter 161 Colton’s Confession
Liam reached out and twisted the doorknob gently—locked.
He exhaled slowly, his wrinkled fingers tightening around the trolley’s handle. Then, with a faint smirk on his ancient-looking face, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out two slim, silver lockpicks.
Click. Clack. Twist.
The old door put up almost no resistance. It opened with a soft click, just loud enough to make the two inside snap their heads toward it.
Colton Virelli looked up, confused, then mildly alarmed. Amara, who had been standing a few feet away from him—her dress straightened, her lips still glossy and wet—wrinkled her nose in immediate disgust.
"What the fuck?" she muttered, taking a step back. "Ugh, what is that smell?!"
Colton furrowed his brows. "Harold Milton? What are you doing here?" he asked, squinting at the old man hunched over his trolley. His name was on his uniform.
Liam said nothing at first. Instead, he reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out a phone, tapping it a few times. Then, with a shaky hand and a dry, raspy voice that trembled with age, he showed Colton the glowing screen.
"You ordered a cleaning, sir," Liam croaked, his voice sounding like sandpaper dragged across gravel. "I’m here for it."
Colton leaned forward, visibly confused. "What are you talking about?"
Still squinting, he turned to his computer and began typing. "I didn’t order any damn cleaning," he muttered. But then, as the system loaded, his expression shifted. His brows lifted, his mouth parted slightly.
There it was.
A cleaning order request from his account. Timestamped. Approved.
He hadn’t even touched his computer today.
His eyes darted between the screen and the old man again. "What the... How the hell...?"
Of course, he didn’t know.
He had no idea Liam had breached their network earlier. No idea Liam had slipped into their internal scheduling system like a ghost and created the request himself.
"I said I don’t need any cleaning," Colton barked, waving a hand dismissively. "That must’ve been a mistake. Just leave."
Liam stood still.
Silent.
Motionless.
Something about that silence—it unsettled Colton. He looked up again, more frustration in his eyes now. "What the fuck do you want, old man?" he snapped.
That’s when Liam smiled.
And in a blink—
Swoosh—THUD!
A sharp silver glint shot through the air and embedded itself into the desk, just an inch from Colton’s left hand. The knife trembled slightly from the force of the throw, its blade buried deep into the hardwood surface.
Colton jolted back with a gasp, his eyes wide in raw fear.
Amara screamed and jumped away from the desk, her high heels clattering against the floor.
Colton stared at the blade, then back at Liam. "What the fuck... who the fuck ARE you?!"
His trembling hand began to shift under the desk, toward the hidden panic button installed below.
But Liam didn’t even raise his head.
He was already reaching into the side of his trolley, unlatching a hidden compartment with methodical ease.
"If you push that button," Liam said coldly, still in his dry, elderly tone, "the next knife will go straight through your eye."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Colton froze, hand hovering just under the table.
Liam finally looked up, and though the face was that of a frail old janitor, the eyes staring back were anything but. They were cold. Sharp. Alive with a deadly stillness that made Colton sweat through his silk shirt.
Then Liam’s head turned ever so slightly toward Amara.
"Phone," he said softly.
She blinked, confused.
"What...?"
"Drop the phone. Tuck it in your bag. Then kick it away. Now."
Her entire body went cold. A tremble rippled through her hands. She looked at Liam—and realized, with a terrifying shiver, that he hadn’t even looked at her properly. And yet he knew. She had reached for her phone the moment the knife was thrown, fingers brushing the screen to call for help.
But he had known.
Amara didn’t dare speak. She just obeyed. She slipped her phone into her handbag, zipped it shut, and then kicked it across the office floor. It skidded, bumping into the far wall with a hollow thunk.
Colton stared at her. "You—you idiot, why would you—"
"Shut. Up." Liam growled.
It rumbled with menace, real and controlled. Deadly.
Colton’s mouth snapped shut instantly.
Amara pressed her back to the wall, her confidence bleeding away with every second. Liam stepped forward, just once, and let the wheels of his trolley click against the floor.
Then everything fell silent again.
---
Liam reached into the trolley once more, his movement slow and deliberate. From a hidden compartment, he pulled out a thick roll of industrial-strength duct tape, silver and cold in the fluorescent lighting of the office.
He stared at Colton, then flicked the tape toward him with a casual toss. It landed on the table with a heavy thud, right next to Colton’s trembling hands.
"If you want to live," Liam said, his voice still hoarse and aged, "tape her mouth and bind her hands."
Colton didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.
He grabbed the tape with desperate fingers, nearly dropping it from how much his hands were shaking. Without sparing Amara even a glance, he turned and rushed toward her. She looked at him, shocked, her mouth parting as if to beg—but no words came out.
"Mr C-Colton...?" she stuttered. "W-What are you doing...?"
But he didn’t respond. He didn’t care.
He tore off a thick strip of tape and pressed it firmly across her mouth, silencing her instantly. Her muffled screams filled the room as he wrapped the tape around her hands, then her wrists behind her back, binding her tightly. Her body trembled as she struggled, but Colton just worked faster, tighter.
His only concern now was saving himself.
When he finished, Amara collapsed to her knees beside the desk, bound and gagged like a sack of trash. Her eyes shimmered with disbelief—betrayal, fear, and utter humiliation. Colton didn’t look at her once. Not even when she whimpered through the tape.
Liam stepped forward slowly, his hunched body straightening just slightly. The disguise still clung to him, the air of frailty, the tremble in his voice—but now, each step he took radiated control.
"Good," he rasped. "Now... sit down."
Colton staggered backward into his leather chair, collapsing into it with a thump. His breathing was ragged, sweat pouring down his balding scalp.
"I want this to be quick and clean," Liam muttered as he stopped in front of the desk, eyes cold behind the glasses. "You’re going to do something for me. You’re going to tell the world what you are."
Colton blinked. "W-What?"
Liam reached for Colton’s phone. "You’re going to make a post," he said. "A very honest post."
He tapped open the phone, brought up the recording app, and began speaking as he pointed the camera toward Colton.
"Say it," Liam said. "Say how you’ve abused your position. Say how you’ve kept innocent girls off the platform because they wouldn’t sleep with you... and how you gave others fake success because they did."
Colton’s lips parted, but nothing came out.
Liam lowered the phone and raised his hand.
Click.
The soft sound of a silencer being armed echoed like a thunderclap in the silence.
Colton froze.
The barrel of a black pistol was now pointed directly at his forehead. The trembling old hand that held it was steady now—too steady.
Liam’s eyes never blinked. "Say it."
Colton’s throat bobbed. His lip quivered.
"I... I held girls back because they wouldn’t sleep with me," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I promoted others who complied. I gave them false success... to protect my own ego. To feed it."
Liam recorded every word. When Colton finished, Liam stopped the recording, saved it, and tossed the phone back to him.
"Post it," Liam ordered. "With your own hands."
Colton stared at the device in his palm like it was a grenade.
But one look at Liam—and the gun still trained on his head—made the choice clear. He unlocked his social media, opened the app, and hesitantly copied the words from the recording, retyping them with trembling fingers.
Each letter was a nail in his own coffin.
When he finished, he added the video as his hand hovered over the post button.
"Do it." Liam’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
Colton tapped it.
The confession went live.
Dozens—then hundreds—of comments began pouring in within seconds. The algorithm picked it up instantly, and the post began to spread like wildfire.
Liam nodded. "Now toss the phone into the bin."
Colton obeyed immediately, flinging the phone into the metal wastebasket beside his desk.
He looked up again, sweat drenching his collar. "W-What now...?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
Liam didn’t answer.
He stepped forward, slowly, and reached out toward the desk. His old fingers gripped the hilt of the knife he’d thrown earlier. With one smooth motion, he yanked it free.
The sound of metal scraping wood echoed like thunder in the silent room.
Then Liam calmly pulled a white cloth from his pocket and wiped the blade clean, slowly, meticulously, his expression never changing.
"You know," he said quietly, "men like you... they never change. You think with your cocks, and destroy lives like it’s nothing, you see them as playthings."
Colton swallowed thickly and dropped to his knees from the chair. His hands clutched the edge of Liam’s trousers as he bowed down, desperate.
"Please!" he begged, his forehead hitting the floor. "I won’t do it again! I swear—please, I’ll change! I’ll fix everything! Don’t kill me!"
The sight was pathetic.
An old, powerful executive reduced to a trembling coward, groveling for his life beside the very woman he used and betrayed. Her muffled cries continued behind the gag, but Colton didn’t even glance her way.
Liam stared down at him in silence.
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