My Front Page Story Novels & Stories

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

“We don’t issue denials. We don’t let Ryan Cole control the narrative.” “You tell your story first. On your terms. Tonight if possible.” “Tonight,” I repeated. “I have a contact at City Arts,” she said. “Claire Danes. She broke the feature. She’ll run a follow up immediately if you give her the story first.” I looked at Grayson. “Your call too,” I said. “This is your reputation.” “It’s our story,” he said simply. “We tell it.”

I just exhaled in a way that my shoulders went so relaxed and Hannah made a grimace of victory. “Come on, we have to be at the Devilish Ink in about an hour,” she added, sipping the last gulp of coffee. “Just let me grab my bag and my keys” I almost begged, dragging my feet to the door. The drive to the tabloid Devilish Ink was so quiet that I thought at some point I was hearing my own thoughts. A story cover of the tumultuous life of the one and only Pierre Trottier. How in the world did I get into this position? I had so many cover stories by now, but this one was different. So different that my heart skipped a beat just to think of the importance of this story.

I said. That got his attention. “What kind of help?” “The kind that involves your media contacts.” There was a short pause. Then, “Alright. I’m listening.” “I need a story pushed out,” I said. “Fast and wide coverage.” “What kind of story?” “That Ardenti Renacer is facing serious financial trouble.” There was a long pause this time. “You’re serious?” “Yes.” “Ma’am… that’s not small.” “I know.” “And you want this to go public?” “Yes.”

It was my 22nd birthday party and my engagement party with Conrad. Maybe God wanted to give me a second chance; in the blink of an eye, I was reborn. Not only was I alive, but I was back at the age of 22. This year, Harmon International was thriving, and my father had made it into the top ten on the Forbes list. This year, Conrad and I were still not engaged. "Of course, she's having a headache," someone behind me chimed in with a tone of malicious glee. "Yesterday, Conrad admitted in front of the media that the little secretary is his girlfriend."

I said, though my voice didn’t carry as much certainty as I would have liked. She didn’t react to that either. Instead, she lifted the glass to her lips and took a slow, deliberate sip, her eyes never leaving mine. “The interesting part,” she said after a moment, setting the glass down lightly, “is that this story is already packaged and ready to go.” My chest tightened further. “Every major front page in Seattle and Boston,” she added, her tone almost conversational, “within forty-eight hours of you opening your mouth to anyone.” The room suddenly felt quieter, like the air had been pulled out of it.

His face is even more puzzled. If you’re wondering how casual currently we are, even though we ended last night on an awkward note, well… I explained it. Usually, in stories, they just skip to the next day/ chapter as if nothing happened, but NO. IT’S NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL. How I wish it was. I have to thoroughly explain EVERYTHING. Even the finger-partner part. Good heavens, they don’t know about that! Why? IT’S BECAUSE THEY DON’T DO IT! I can’t believe it. They go straight to the point; no foreplay! What a sad world this is…

Please follow my f******k page jane above story and group jane above story if you wanna chat or keep updated on my writing schedule. Yours, Jane above story

he bragged. I chuckled and straightened up in my seat. "Is that all?" He shook his head. "They posted three chapters of your story on their website," he said. I looked at him, surprised. He glanced back at me and chuckled. "I’ll tell you the details later. Just let me drive in peace," he joked. I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. Still, a knot formed in my stomach. What if it’s not doing well? Then again, nobody starts at the top—you always begin at the bottom.

She's shipping me off to another continent as damage control. I continue to eat a breakfast I have zero interest in, and once I hear her car leave, I pull out my phone , mentally preparing myself for the worst. The first five notifications are about me. On Wolfgram, our own version of I*******m, several blogs have already published my story.