PART I
TRUST

Chapter 1
.: The Way the Wind Blows:.

Fact: people who grow up surrounded by money and never knew the word “want” exists in the English dictionary tend to be slightly bitchy, even the guys. They can’t help it. It rubs off on them, I think, from their parents, relatives, and other adult associations. And, of course, they couldn’t help it either. It’s a vicious cycle.

And, fact: if you are rich and aren’t bitchy, or, at the very least, full of attitude and wisecrack remarks whenever the occasion calls for it, you’re at the bottom of the pecking order, a lesson that I had to learn the hard way. It’s just the way the charming circle of The Rich and Famous worked: kill or be killed, do or die. That, the general student population agrees, should have been our school motto. (Which, as you can imagine, is an elusive private school situated right smack in the middle of Upper East Side, Manhattan and full of the sons and daughters of some of the richest people on the continent, if not the world.)

It’s no wonder, then, that when you stick these sons and daughters of some of the richest people on Earth in one school and force them to make idle talk and not jump down each other’s throats, you get a lot of cat fights. It’s a given. Everyone knows that, and no one is surprised by it.

Except for my parents.

You’d think they’d know better, considering that both of them grew up with crazy amounts of money and twenty thousand servants at their beck and call. I think the term “filthy rich” was made for my parents.

My dad, Daniel Lawson Morgan III, but simply called Dan, is currently president of VICOTec, the nation’s most well known pharmaceutical company and head of a conglomerate of a chain of other products. My grandfather, Daniel Lawson Morgan Jr., is currently CEO of some other company whose name I can no longer remember, and had “retired” VICOTec to Dad to be CEO of said company.

With a name like that, it’s no wonder why Dad had bulked when Mom suggested calling Benjamin Daniel. Imagine a baby saddled with a name like Daniel Lawson Morgan IV.

My mom, on the other hand, is a Graves. As in, Senator Michael Graves is her brother, and Kathleen Graves, her mother, is the head coordinator of most of the charity events in the entire USA, a talent for which my mom, Patricia Graves-Morgan, had inherited. Way back when, the Graves’ oil empire was probably second only to the Rockefellers. No wonder, then, is it, that they’re still rich?

But they have no idea how the minds of teenagers work. Not in the least.

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“I can’t believe they are actually thinking of transferring us just because that complete bitch Megan Emmett told Daddy dearest.” Madison fumed in the car as we drove to school the day after we overheard our parents arguing. The car, still new, reeked of leather. Brushing a dislodged piece of blonde hair behind her ear, she managed to look both beautiful and indignant. “And it’s not even like I stole Edward off of her: he broke up with her two full days before we went public. And Charles, stop trying to listen to us and report to Mom and Dad. Put the screen up, Sash.”

Offering a small, apologetic smile at Charles, I put the screen up between us. Charles’ deflated look meant that he probably had been bribed by our parents to listen in on us.

“Well, it’s not that bad, right? It’s only Megan, everyone knows that she talks crap about everyone. Practically ruined that little dinner party that her parents gave.” I said, moving back to my seat, brushing against Benjamin, who immediately stiffened, crossed his arms, looked out the window, and turned the volume up on his iPod.

It was funny, how the three of us Morgans could be so different. Madison, or Maddy, as I tended to shorten it to, was the oldest, the most beautiful, and the most talked about at school, not to mention by the tabloids. Her look was very Californian: blue eyes, blond hair, and a very subtle tan that was mostly thanks to bronzer. She had the kind of natural born “star quality” about her, that made every girl want to be her and every guy want to be with her. We might have been only a year apart in age, but Maddy looked a lot more sophisticated than I did, even though we bought a lot of our clothes together and exchanged and borrowed from each other often. In comparison to her, I was the girl next door. I was the person that they approached to get a date with Maddy, and I’ve probably had more guy friends than boyfriends. My only exotic feature was my eyes: a deep blue washed with green, the color you’d expect of a tropical sea. Pretty enough, but utterly average compared to Maddy. Benji was just…well, the standard sulky, brooding teenager that wouldn’t really stand out from a crowd of other sulky, brooding teenagers.

“Easy for you to say, you’ve been going steady with Tristan for…how long now?”

“One year, three months…give or take a month…and counting.” I leaned forward to examine my shoes, letting my dark hair fall forwards and obstruct my face to hide my blush.

“Think he’s The One?” Maddy glanced over, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards, knowing how I’d respond. Involuntarily, my hand jumped to the small heart pendant I wore around my neck, fingering the clasp, knowing that my eyes were probably growing a little hazy. Feeling a little disloyal for still wearing the necklace.

Tristan is the most perfect boyfriend anyone could wish to have: sweet, sensitive, and protective (but not overly so). He was funny, and caring, and completely gorgeous, with dark hair and icy blue eyes. And I really, really liked him. But is he The One? No. Not for me.

“Bit young to be thinking of The One, aren’t we?” I said, feigning indifference and pulling on the skirt of my uniform. I’ve never quite mastered the lying thing.

“You’re a horrible liar, you know.” She retorted, going back to her sulky mood. “The nerve of her, really, to pick a fight with me in front of the whole school. But of course, her being an Emmett…” She said the name with more venom than I could ever have imagined of her. The Emmetts and the Morgans did not get along well. It was a fact of life. The name Graves-Morgan held a certain amount of power over Upper East Side, and the unspoken law was that people shouldn’t piss us off. Period. But then again, people didn’t dare piss the Emmetts off, either. I willed her to come off of her anger and go back to her usual, sweet self.

“Anyway, it’s just going to come back and bite her on the ass.” I said, settling back as Maddy swiped at my hand. “You know how Edward already hates her for being too possessive. It’ll be fine.”

“It should have been fine, except for the fact that Edward’s way too clingy. God, he’s like a little puppy, you know, but one that gets really mad if you don’t give him your full attention every single hour of the day. I dumped him.” She gave a nonchalant little shrug, even though I could tell that under the façade she was hurt.

“You went through all that trouble and then you dump him?” I asked, incredulous. It wasn’t, and probably wouldn’t be, the last time that she did something like that. Boy-crazy, our Maddy, and always will be.

“I don’t want to go.” Her anger fading, she leaned back in the seat, apparently exhausted. “I mean, New York is home. Manhattan is my backyard. I freaking live at Saks and Macy’s. They can’t make us go back.”

“And to imagine that two years ago you didn’t want to live at New York.” I teased, flashing a smile. “I believe the term you used was voluntary exile. Or was it social purgatory?”

“Well, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? If the whole Dad and ‘mystery woman’ thing hadn’t been blown out of proportion,” she gestured, air-quoting herself. “We’d never have left Toronto. I mean, yeah, the privacy was great, while it lasted. Spilled milk and sour to begin with and all that.”

“They’re considering relocating us to the West Coast just to get us away from the Emmetts now. I really don’t get why they can’t just leave us alone. I mean, the company’s here, our home is here. We’re here. I mean, you heard the way Mom sounded behind those doors. She didn’t want to leave, either. I don’t get it. What’s the big deal about one little fight?”

“The big deal,” she replied acidly. “The big deal is that our parents want to uproot us and stick us in some godforsaken place again. And I don’t even care that that godforsaken place might be Beverly Hills. I don’t give a shit. I’m an East Coast girl. I live for the seasons. It’s fine for a fling in the winter, or even in the summer, but I’m not, ever, going to California to live permanently.”

“You talk about it like it’s the end of the world.” I casted out carelessly.

Giving me an evil look, Maddy opened her mouth to retort, but the car suddenly screeched to a halt in front of the school. That usually didn’t happen with Charles. He was a careful driver. All three of us immediately became alert. Excited shouting and cries of “That’s them!” filled the air. Maddy and I exchanged a look of pure panic.

Through the dark, tainted glass of the car, I saw the flash of cameras. Shocked, and more than a little frightened even after all this time of being hounded by the press, I rolled down the screen. The commotion outside was so loud that I couldn’t hear myself think. The second that the screen was down, a flash exploded in my face.

“Shit!” was the first word that found its way out of my mouth before I had recovered enough to roll the screen up again.

“Ms. Morgan! Ms. Morgan! Is it true that…”

“…this is Hello! magazine…can we please have a…”

“Can you confirm the fact that you and Mr. Edward Rivers are…”

Charles was screaming at the reporters to move out of the way. One of the photographers (from what I could see the few brief moments when the screen was down) had launched himself in front of the car and busy snapping pictures of whatever he could get his little lenses on.

Without warning, the car swerved, knocking us half out of our seats. Undoubtedly traveling at twice the legal speed limit, Charles fled the mob of reporters and photographers. By the time I finally got the screen down again, he was breathing heavily and muttering whole strings of swear words to himself.

“Are you going to take us in through the back entrance?” Maddy managed to say, obviously spooked. I didn’t blame her. Usually, the press was after the three of us as a group. This time, they were picking up enough angles to try and corner her by herself. I squeezed her hand, hopefully reassuringly.

“Yes, and then I am going to go to the police station and file a restraining order against all of them.” He muttered, eyes carefully glued to the rearview mirror. “At least they’re not following us.”

“Well, they’re probably depending on the fact that we’ll have to show up there sooner or later. God. They’re even more vicious than they way they were over the whole ‘mystery woman’ thing.”

“If you hadn’t acted like such a slut,” Benji stated, the first time that he’d talked during the entire ride to school, “they wouldn’t be here at all. And we wouldn’t have to move, either, you realize.”

“Benji, be quiet, she’s got enough on her plate without you making her feel worse.” I snapped, watching Maddy starting to tear up, but trying to act like she was outraged.

“We’re here.” Charles’ deep voice cut through the air before anyone else could reply. Grimly, he let us off, then sped away like the hellhounds were on his tail. Benji seemed to vanish in front of our eyes. Within seconds, I was alone with Maddy,

“Oh, Mads…it’s okay.” I said quietly, giving her a quick hug, trying to comfort her as much as myself. “Word is going to spread that you’re not an item at all, that the whole thing was just a rumor gone out of hand. It’ll be fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t going to be fine ever again.

Author's Note: Sorry I've all but fallen off the face of the Earth for the past few weeks, but I've been really swamped. But here it is: the first (official) chapter of Dangerous to Know. Thanks to Andrien, Austen Glorifier, Bombadil Took, and addictedXx for reviewing last chapter. Your comments have kept me from going insane under mountains of homework. xP Thanks for reading!