Age Of The Villainous Author:All Hell Leads To Webnovel-Chapter 44: The Dinner Invitation
I didn’t go back to the office.
Instead I drove to my mother’s favorite restaurant. Stary Dom. Old Warsaw. Wooden beams. Candlelight. The kind of place she used to take me for birthdays when money was tight.
I’d reserved the private room.
She arrived at 7:00 p.m. Wearing the navy dress I’d bought her last month. The one she said was "too fancy."
She looked beautiful.
And terrified.
I stood when she entered.
Kissed her cheek.
"Mama."
"Alex."
We sat.
Waiter poured water. Left menus. Disappeared.
She didn’t open hers.
"I saw the news," she said. "Thorn Publishing. Inkwell Press. They’re saying you bought it. For real."
I nodded.
"It’s true."
She looked down at her hands.
"How much?"
"Enough that you never have to worry again."
She laughed. Small, broken.
"I’m not worried about money. I’m worried about you."
I reached across the table. Took her hand.
"I’m fine."
"You’re not," she said. "You’re different. Harder. You look at me like... like I’m something to manage."
The words landed.
Because she was right.
I saw her foundation now, love, fear, confusion. And a growing crack of distance.
I squeezed her hand.
"I’m building something big. For us. For the future."
"What future?" she asked. "You’re sixteen. You should be dating. Going to parties. Failing math tests. Not... owning companies. Not coming home at three in the morning smelling like perfume that isn’t mine."
I exhaled.
"I’m not a normal sixteen-year-old."
"I know," she whispered. "That’s what scares me."
The waiter returned.
We ordered automatically. Borscht. Pierogi. The things we used to share.
When he left, she spoke again.
"I want to meet your... partners. Kasia. The lawyer. Whoever else is in this."
My stomach tightened.
"They’re colleagues."
"Don’t lie to me."
I met her eyes.
"You wouldn’t like them."
"I don’t like what they’re turning you into."
Silence stretched.
Then I said the thing I hadn’t planned to say.
"Come to the office tomorrow. See it. See what I’m doing. Meet them. Then decide."
She searched my face.
"You’d let me?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"Okay."
Dinner arrived.
We ate in near silence.
The food tasted like childhood.
But the taste was fading.
When the check came, I paid with the black Amex.
She watched the card.
Then looked at me.
"I love you, Alex."
"I love you too, Mama."
I meant it.
But the void inside me didn’t care.
It just wanted more chain.
More stone.
More everything.
As we left the restaurant, my phone buzzed.
Joanna.
Text: Letter finalized. Sending now. Also—Kasia and I are at the suite. Waiting.
I looked at my mother.
She was watching the city lights.
I slipped the phone back in my pocket.
Tomorrow would be complicated.
Tonight already was.
The empire never slept.
Neither did I.
//\\
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.
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: 44%
Next Level: +1% 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞
If this Chapter resonated with you, drop a comment. Tell me about the time a gatekeeper told you "No." Tell me the first time you actually felt satisfied of your writing and knew that you couldn’t stop now. Tell me the time that loyal reader kept dropping by knowing that you have a whole rollercoaster in store for them.
Let’s burn the old world down and write a new one together.
ALL HELL FROM WEBNOVEL STARTS FROM YOU!
— A.T.
