Age Of The Villainous Author:All Hell Leads To Webnovel-Chapter 35: Celebration in the Glass Tower

The Inkwell acquisition closed at 4:17 PM on a Thursday.

By 5:00 PM, the news was already rippling through Polish publishing circles—small, polite ripples, the kind that don’t make waves until someone starts drowning.

I didn’t wait for the ripples.

I had Kasia book the top floor of the new Thorn Publishing office—formerly Inkwell’s Warsaw satellite, now rebranded and gutted. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Black marble. A long table that could seat twenty but tonight held only three place settings.

Me. Kasia. Joanna Vektor.

The lawyer had been summoned under the guise of "post-acquisition paperwork review." She arrived at 7:15 in a charcoal pencil skirt and cream silk blouse, hair pulled into a low, severe knot. Sharp cheekbones. Sharper eyes. Thirty-eight, divorced once, no children. Foundation: ruthless clarity wrapped around a core of carefully buried hunger.

She didn’t know the hunger was about to be fed.

Kasia greeted her at the door in a midnight-blue dress that hugged every curve. She smiled with that perfect, devoted warmth bright, but not overdone.

"Ms. Vektor. Thank you for coming on short notice."

Joanna inclined her head. "When the new owner of Inkwell Press requests a meeting, one arrives."

I stayed seated at the head of the table, legs crossed, tumbler of single malt in hand. The city glittered thirty floors below like scattered diamonds.

"Sit, Jojo," I said.

She stiffened at the nickname. Only a flicker. Then she sat.

Champagne was already poured. The bottle had cost more than most people’s rent. I raised my glass.

"To foundations," I said.

They echoed it. Glasses clinked.

The first hour was business.

Kasia walked Joanna through the restructured contracts, the new royalty tiers, the planned limited-edition hardcovers. Joanna asked precise, cutting questions. Her pen moved like a scalpel. She was good. Very good.

I watched her throat move when she swallowed champagne. Watched the way her fingers tightened around the stem when Kasia leaned close to point at a clause.

The second hour, the conversation drifted.

I refilled glasses. Let the alcohol loosen the air.

I shifted in my chair, my knee brushing Kasia’s under the table. Accidental, but not. I let it linger.

She glanced at me. A question in her eyes.

I leaned toward her slightly, my voice low but not whispering. "You look incredible tonight. That dress... it’s distracting."

Her cheeks flushed faintly. Devotion made her receptive. She crossed her legs, the motion pressing her thigh against mine.

Joanna’s eyes flicked to us. She shifted in her seat.

I turned to her. "What do you think of the view, Jojo? Warsaw at night. It’s almost as captivating as the company."

She met my gaze. "It’s... impressive. As is the acquisition."

I smiled. Slow. Let my fingers trace the rim of my glass. "Some things are worth acquiring. Slowly. Thoroughly."

Kasia’s hand found my knee under the table. A light touch. Questioning.

I covered her hand with mine. Guided it higher. Just a fraction. Hinting.

Her breath caught.

Joanna cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should wrap up. The paperwork seems in order."

I stood. "One more thing. There’s an important document I need you to look at, Kasia. It’s in the storeroom. Give me a helping hand?"

She nodded immediately. "Of course."

We left Joanna at the table, her eyes following us with a mix of curiosity and something sharper.

The storeroom was down a short hall. Boxes of old manuscripts, filing cabinets, a small desk. I flicked on the dim overhead light.

Kasia stepped in. I closed the door behind us. Locked it.

She turned to me. "What document?"

I didn’t answer with words.

I backed her against the desk. My hands found her hips. Pulled her close.

She gasped softly. "Alex..."

I kissed her. Hard. Tongue slipping in. Tasting champagne and devotion.

Her hands clutched my shirt.

I broke the kiss. "I’ve been thinking about this all night."

She nodded. Eyes dark. "Me too."

I spun her around. Bent her over the desk.

Hiked up her dress. Black lace panties. I dragged them down. Let them tangle at her knees.

Her ass was perfect. Round. Firm.

I freed myself. Cock hard, throbbing.

Rubbed the head against her slit. She was already wet. Dripping.

I pushed in.

Slow. Inch by inch.

She moaned. Low. Throaty.

Tight. Hot. Gripping every ridge.

I bottomed out. Held.

Then pulled back. Slammed in.

She cried out.

I fucked her. Steady rhythm. Deep thrusts.

Her ass jiggled with each impact. Soft flesh rippling.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Skin on skin. Wet. Echoing in the small room.

I reached around. Found her clit. Circled.

She bucked. Pushed back against me.

"Alex... yes..."

Faster now.

Her tits swung under her dress. I yanked the zipper down. Pulled the fabric aside. Squeezed one breast. Felt the heavy weight fill my palm. Squished it. Pinched the nipple.

She shuddered. Walls clenched.

The door rattled.

We froze.

Joanna’s voice, muffled. "Kasia? Alex? You’ve been gone a while. Is everything alright?"

I didn’t pull out.

Kasia looked back at me. Eyes wide.

I thrust once. Hard.

She bit her lip to stifle a moan.

Joanna knocked again.

The handle turned.

She pushed the door open.

And saw.

Everything.

//\\

To the authors who have stared at a blank cursor until it started to look like a heartbeat, this is for you.

​They told us we weren’t good enough. They sent those cold, automated rejections that read like a death warrant for our dreams.

"Not a fit." "Lacks marketability." Every time you see Alex Thorn crush an editor in this story, remember: this isn’t just fiction. This is the scream of every writer who stayed up until 3:00 AM pouring their soul into a document that the world ignored. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

It is for everyone who has struggled with low reads, low reviews, and those stagnant collections that make you want to quit.

​The gatekeepers are human. They are flawed. And in this digital age, they are becoming obsolete.

They sit in comfortable chairs judging worlds they could never imagine, let alone build. They look at spreadsheets while we look at the stars. We don’t write for the approval of a corporate board in a glass office; we write for the person scrolling on their phone at a bus stop, looking for a world better than their own.

We write for the ones who need an escape from a life that feels like a dead end.

​If you have a manuscript sitting in a folder named "Draft 1" that you’re too afraid to post—post it right now.

Stop waiting for permission to exist. If you’ve been rejected ten times, go for the eleventh. Use their "No" as fuel for your fire.

Alex Thorn had to die to get his second chance. You don’t. You just have to keep typing until your fingers bleed and your vision blurs. The industry thinks they hold the keys, but they forgot that we are the ones who build the doors in the first place.

​Let them call us "cringe." Let them call us "amateurs." While they talk, we build. While they judge, we evolve into something they can’t control.

They fear the day we realize that their power is an illusion, a paper shield against a tidal wave of raw, unfiltered creativity. We are the architects of the impossible. We are the voices in the dark that refuse to be silenced by a "standardized" algorithm.

​The system is rigged to favor the safe, the bland, and the predictable. But the reader’s heart craves the wild, the broken, and the real. Every Chapter you finish is a middle finger to the status quo. Every "Publish" button you click is an act of war against the people who want to keep you in a box.

We are not just content creators; we are world-shapers. We are the nightmare that the ivory tower never saw coming.

​Current Motivation Level: 35%

Next Level: +1%

​If this Chapter resonated with you, drop a comment. Let’s burn the old world down and write a new one together.

​ALL HELL FROM WEBNOVEL STARTS FROM YOU!

— A.T.