My Front Page Story Novels & Stories

I ask confused. Stopping doing anything, confused I approach my employee in the kitchen, not understanding what she was saying. She soon understands that I don't understand anything that is going on, and quickly answers me, "Didn't you know sir? You and Miss Victoria made the front page last week, we left a copy in the living room so you could see the story they did on you."

When you're done reading, and you like this story, please do well to drop a review on the front page to attract more readers. Thank you so much!!! Xoxo| Faith Solomon

I couldn’t help but ask. The event was a close-door affair, so no one should have known what happened there. I could remember now that I saw a news van in the garage. I was sure they were the ones who leaked it out. I entered my I*******m page, where I had the most buzz, and one of the outlets carried the story, for which I have been tagged. “Shit!” I wanted to do this low-key and didn’t want anyone to be aware of it, but I guess it was out the window.

My mother said laughing almost hysterically. “Buy your news— wait, I know you." I turned in time to see the man running to his stall and grabbing a paper, I was in the front page and Gabriel was right beside me... We were walking into Mr Mason's mansion, holding hands... Our engagement ring was sparkling. We made breaking need and front page. I saw the headline and I gasped. My mother grabbed the paper from my hand. “Of course, my daughter is famous, she's a model, it's not surprise she made front pag—"

“Wait… you said the front page?” “Front page, top,” Cynthia says. “Congratulations, you might have had to gone incognito to do it, but you’ve made the big time.” Scrambling, I click her on speakerphone so that I can open the mobile internet and search for Harbinger News Company. Cynthia wasn’t exaggerating. My opinion article is right there on top. It’s already tracked thousands of views, even at 5:30 am. It has hundreds of comments. “The comments agree with you, by the way,” Cynthia says. “Miles is all the rage right now. Anyone who’s anyone seems to be backing him.”

After two rings, a woman’s voice answered, “Pristine, I wasn’t expecting your call tonight.” “It’s urgent,” I said quickly. “I need your help.” “What kind of help?” she asked. I could almost hear the smirk in her voice. I took a deep breath. “I want to push a story. A narrative about Alexander. It has to go viral.” There was silence for a second. Then she said, “This sounds interesting, please go on.” “I want it everywhere that I broke up with Alexander,” I said slowly, choosing my words, “because he physically abused me.”

“Mum, they are always in the front page and always on every blog airing out each others dity lundery, I don't give a fuck, please.” “This is different, Nathan just sued Sophia for your niece's custody.” “WHAT!” “Yes and the date for the hearing has been set, check the popular blog page, the details are all there.” I could feel my blood boil at the speed of light, “mu, I have to go.” “But……” I did not let her finish before I ended the call. I opened my I*******m page and the first news that popped up on my feed was the story. Nathan and Sophia's face was smeared on the front with a headline that made me want to smash my phone again.

Nick Henderson, Connor's assistant, exclaimed over the phone, "Something terrible has happened, Mr. Shaw! Quick! Check the latest headlines!" Connor pulled up the browser and saw his name topping the list of viral searches. When he clicked on the first link, his breath halted. He was greeted by a video of him doing the deed with Sylvie in front of the altar. There was an uproar in the comments. "I thought everyone said Connor Shaw was a religious man who took a vow of celibacy? Why would he do something like that in front of the altar?" "Goodness me! Here I was thinking that Connor Shaw was saving himself for Anna Larson. Guess you can never trust the image these people from wealthy families

she began. “Yeah,” I said, running a towel over my face. “Feels good to do this again.” “Giving back?” she asked. “Playing,” I corrected gently. “Even if it’s not the same kind of court.” She nodded, pen scratching. “The Chronicle’s running a series about athletes redefining their purpose after setbacks. Your story fits the theme.” “My story,” I repeated, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “Funny how that keeps being everyone else’s headline.”

It made us sound like a speed bump. I bought the magazine, my hands trembling with a quiet rage I hadn’t felt even at the height of the fight. I showed it to Arthur that evening. He read it, his expression unreadable. Then he handed it back. “So he wins the narrative after all. Even in retreat, he controls the story.” “We have to tell our own,” I said, the words coming out with a force that surprised me. “Not for them. Not for a board or a magazine. For us. For the town. For anyone who thinks fighting is futile. We have to tell the real story.”