Disclaimer: These characters belong to the lovely Stephenie Meyer.

3:55. Shit. I'm going to be late. Oh well. The bitch is overcharging. She can wait. I thought to myself as I swerved in and out between taxis and the latest and finest Mercedes and Bentley models money could buy. My ebony Aston Martin Vanquish V-12 S put all those cars to horrible shame. Car connoisseurs tell me it's completely unnecessary and unfair to 'tame a beast like that' in the crowded streets of New York, being that the Aston hits 0-60mph in 4.4 seconds and 0-100mph in 10.3 seconds, and sure, it's ostentatious even for the Upper East Side, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I was born into the lap of luxury and I couldn't help but indulge. Being extremely privileged and attractive was only meant to be taken full advantage of. My reputation is my utmost priority, and I would make damn sure that everything I did, I owned, and am a part of is extravagant, unmatchable, and cunning. And most important of all, I would do whatever it takes to advance myself into the status of an elusive legend. I already possess the supreme rule at Brighton Preparatory; I might as well walk around with a scepter and crown, and upgrade my school desk into a gold plated, diamond and ruby encrusted throne. I have minions, not friends. I'm captain of the Rugby team, Water Polo team, president of the JBLA, a member of the student council, the orchestra, and took mostly AP classes. I have even administration eating from the palm of my hand, and I have every intention of overthrowing the city and becoming dictator as well. Of course, I have my second in command, my partner in crime, someone who craves an unscrupulous, legendary reputation as well. She is my confidant, and the only person who truly enjoys watching people either writhe and squirm or fall to their knees in worship as much as me. This demon incarnated is my step-sister, Rosalie Hale, and apart from being staggeringly beautiful, astute, and quite the sexpot… she is completely ruthless. Together we are an unstoppable force. Though, I chose her not solely because she has my affinity for attention, power, and illicit sex, she isn't someone you should have on your bad side. I've watched her destroy innocent lives without even the slightest hint of remorse. Being her step-brother wouldn't extricate me from her wrath, it meant absolutely nothing, she's very provident. So manipulative, so fastidious, and so utterly detrimental… for only being 17, she is a force to be reckoned with already. She is the junior student body president, an exemplary student, we both are, an upstanding citizen and a role-model, the perfect prim and proper well raised young lady. At least that is what her carefully crafted façade leads everyone to believe. She's even managed to fool my father and her bitch of a mother. She'd crush the head of Mother Teresa under her Manolo Blahniks if it was somehow in the way of her rise to the top. I admire her enthusiasm and injurious persona greatly. Rosalie was the baggage that came along with my father's second marriage to a woman named Charlotte Hale, the widowed daughter of a Midwestern oil tycoon. Why he decided on marrying her vile, inane, gold-digging whore of a woman was unfathomable to me. Sure, she came from good money, but she's hardly a mother, she's constantly jet-setting around the world, probably fucking cabana boys in Miami or buying European male prostitutes with my fathers hard earned money. I would never call her mother. I had and will always have only one mother.

My life so far for only being merely 18 has consisted of flashy, beautiful estates and vehicles, prominent schools, and bedding young and horny Manhattan socialites and debutantes. And I relish every damn second of it, especially fucking those insipid twits. Silly coos. I have been spoiled rotten since day one by my father, Carlisle Cullen, a world renowned surgeon and head of medicine at Lenox Hill Hospital. I, being his only son, he always insisted I deserved the world and more and if whatever I desired had a price-tag, it would be mine. And things without a price-tag would surely be made available somehow. I knew he truly cherished me since I was his only child, but I always knew deep down he felt he had the obligation to suppress the loss of my mother, his wife and soul mate, Esme. She died when I was 10 of Bacterial Meningitis. We both cherished our Esme more than any possession, any amount of money, and any kind of luxury this world could provide. I know we both would've traded this life instantaneously, surrendered all of it gladly if we could have her back, even if we could see her smile that glorious, warm, and inviting smile she blessed us with every morning just one more time. That's the only way I forced myself to remember her, glowing and extremely beautiful, gracefully twirling around in Carlisle's study to Debussy, her long, flowing cinnamon colored curls bouncing behind her, and of course, her infectious 100 kilowatt smile. I know even the most glorious of angels envied her. She'd dance around Carlisle's study when he was too caught up in his work, overly stressed and too serious. She'd pick me up into her arms and we'd spin around, she'd hum to Debussy and Carlisle couldn't help but surrender to her charm and will. Anyone would selflessly surrender everything and anything to her. I refused to remember her how she was the last time I saw her, her mouth agape, her skin drained of life, colorless, and her body limp and attached to an ample amount of tubes and monitors. If anything haunted my thoughts, and provided sleepless nights, it was that image. Forever and always that image. I loathed the corpse that inhabited that hospital room, the plague that rested on that hospital bed and bore its evil, inhuman eyes into mine. Esme's eyes were the most brilliant and lovely shade of emerald, a trait she passed down to me. What was in that room, was not my mother. All traces and evidence of her were gone, dead. All that was left was what consumed her and selfishly ripped her from Carlisle and I. I never blamed my father for not saving her, his eyes mirrored the pain and emptiness in mine. They still do, even after being re-married. We are even.

I came out of my reverie as I felt a tear escape my eyes, making its way down my cheek. I took a deep breath, I could feel the anxiety rising up quickly about to pull me under. I took the wheel with one hand and balanced it with my knee and extended my arm to my dash drawer to feel around for my pill bottle. I glanced at my rearview mirror, when I heard someone begin to assault their car horn behind me. A cabbie was shaking his fist and yelling at me to go faster. I slowed down even more; I couldn't just speed up and forget about the pills. Aside from controlling my impending anxiety attack, I had an asshole quota to meet every single day. I finally felt my grasp around the bottle and pulled it out from under the papers and garbage I had stowed in there. I saw the taxi swerve from behind me to the left, approaching to speed past me. I popped the top off the bottle with my thumb and held it up to my mouth, tilt my head back, and swallowed the last two pills I had left. Lexapro was the sole motivation behind enduring this terrible Friday afternoon city traffic. The taxi sped up next to me, his passenger window and my window now meeting up. I hit the window switch and glared at the cabbie that was glaring at me back, yelling a slew of insults in Italian. I stuck my hand out the window, flipping him off and yelled, "Fucking Guinea!", then proceeded to cut him off. I hadn't realized I had approached East 77th. Plus, you just don't fuck with U.E.S royalty.

I made a right and swerved the Aston into the closest idea of a parking spot in front of Dr. Mallory's office building. I knew it wasn't a parking spot, I was right in front of a fire hydrant but who gave a damn really, it's not like there wasn't a multitude of fire hydrants scattered around the city. 4:08. I grabbed my phone and Venti-latte and took the keys out of the ignition. I stepped out and stretched my arms, taking a deep breath. God, I loved my city. My city. I walked around the car and up to the sidewalk, continuing up the stairs to the entrance twirling my keys in my left hand and sipping on my coffee with my right. I heard someone yelling behind me, "Sir? Sir… You can't park here! Sir!", the meter-maid I'm sure, but he could shove it. Another parking ticket, another day. I put my keys in my back pocket and lifted my hand, shooing him away without even a look back.

I entered the very lavish medical center, a medical center owned by my father, which was also a branch of Lenox Hill. Getting appointments here weren't easy for the average person, and by the average person I meant someone with well means. Middle to lower class people probably wouldn't be able to even get through the doors. This building was reserved for the cities finest, for heirs and royalty, presidents and their families, and A list celebrities. This building is a Pandora's box of secrets, here in this very building went on the super hush-hush plastic surgeries, even more hush-hush abortions for debutantes and CEO's daughters who'd gotten too shit-faced or drugged up in the Hamptons on the 4th of July weekend and gotten impregnated by someone on the staff, millionaire cokewhores being forced into rehab through the summer before prep school, and of course the unbalanced and unscrupulous rich head cases. I guess I fell into the category of an unbalanced, unscrupulous rich head case.

I swung open the door that read Dr. Stephanie Mallory, Psy. D. and entered the lobby. I'd been seeing Dr. Mallory for a few months now, every Friday at 4:00p.m. Dr. Mallory was no different than my past psychiatrists; she overcharged, was completely clueless, and loathed my very existence. She disguised it better than the others, but I still made our hour sessions completely ruthless. She kept 'treating' me this long solely because of Carlisle; she knew I was capable of putting her on the streets with one simple phone call. I walked up to the receptionist desk and slammed my cup on the table. The receptionist had her back turned to me; she seemed to be working on something at the copy machine, and what a backside she had. A backside I knew well. She jumped at the noise and quickly turned to face me, pressing her back against the copy machine. I met her with my most devilish grin. Ah, Jessica. What a great, great ass.

"Edward Cullen." She smiled, and licked her bottom lip. Her mouth was like a Hoover. Another one of her features I knew all too well.

"Jessica, Jessica… Let Mallory know I'm here."

"You're 10 minutes late, Edward."

"And?"

"And…" She sighed, biting lightly on the tip of her pen. "Just… go on in." I eyed her up and down very evidently. She didn't seem to mind, it was a fair trade considering she eye fucked me every Friday afternoon religiously. And when she was lucky, I bent her over the Aston during her lunch break and fulfilled her silly fantasies. She dragged the tip of the pen down the side of her mouth, down her jaw, past her neck and in between her cleavage. My eyes followed of course. Seems Mallory provided the funds for a boob job. I'd have to take it a little easier on Mallory today. I licked my lips and raised an eyebrow, and she winked back.

"See something you want, Edward?" She teased. What a moron. I turned and walked towards Mallory's office. I glanced back and laughed, "Not at all!", and pushed open the double doors.

"Mallory!" I yelled, arms extended in the air, announcing my presence. She jumped in her chair and dropped the phone on the glass desk. Her wide-eyed and startled expression turned to utter disgust as she balanced the phone against her ear with her shoulder and smoothed out her clothes, composing herself once again. She spun her chair away so I wouldn't be in her line of sight and continued her phone call. I walked over and plopped down on the couch, placed my hands behind my head and kicked off the obtrusive taffeta pillows to make more room for my legs.

"… little shit Cullen is here, I'll call you back in 30 minutes. Dinner is at the Plaza tonight, by the way. Bye-Bye." She muttered under breath.

She turned her chair back to me and grimaced. "Edward, our session is going to be cut short today. Only 30 minutes."

"Boo-hoo. I thought you were being paid for an hour."

"I spoke to Carlisle about it. Plus, you were 13 minutes late. So it's 18 minutes long now. Sorry."

I sighed. It's not like I wanted to speak about my problems to this incompetent hag, all I wanted was my meds. If she didn't work for Carlisle, I'd give her a hefty amount of hush money, get what I really wanted, and be on my way. That was what the patient-psychiatrist relationship was between me and my former doctors. She grabbed a notepad and pen from her desk and made her way over to the black leather chair positioned across from the couch where I lay. I eyed her up and down; she was wearing a short navy skirt and cream chiffon ruffled blouse under a matching fitted navy blazer. Her body was cosmetically enhanced of course, definitely nipped and tucked, sucked and filled in the obvious places. Though, it kept my eyes busy whenever I managed to stay relatively alert when she spoke her psychobabble bullshit. Her eyes met mine as they traveled back up to her face. I gave my best shit-eating grin.

"Watch it, Cullen."

"I am. How much did you pay for those melons, I know a girl who could use your rack." Lauren could use that rack. "You've got a killer bod, Mallory."

She scoffed, then cleared her throat nervously, and scribbled something down on her notepad. "Edward Anthony Cullen. Your father is such a respectable man, now tell me, why it is you managed to adhere no respect or manners?"

"Is this a psycho-analysis question or…"

She sighed deeply. 3 minutes in and I was already getting under skin. These would be a successful and torturous 18 minutes.

"How are you feeling this week, Edward. How are you doing?" She said flatly, looking at her watch.

"Let's see. This week was exactly like the last. I'd give you details, but, then you'd be the one seeking professional help. And you know how much I treasure these little meetings we have." This week, your daughter Lauren snorted coke off my erect dick in a bathroom of a nightclub in SoHo. Then I proceeded to bang the shit out of your hipster fuck daughter with said dick in said dirty bathroom. And, I stole almost an eight ball of coke from her purse for Rosalie whilst she was blowing my good ole' dick. How's that for your psycho-analysis, Dr. Freud?

"You know very well I can't help you and you cannot make progress if you don't speak to me."

"We've made more progress than you know." The more you overcharge, bitch, the more your daughter suffers the consequences.

"Are you depressed at the moment, Edward? Are you still engaging in illicit relations with women?"

"Oh, no, absolutely not Dr. Mallory. I am completely ashamed of my past. I can't believe all I ever thought about was sex. I regret it terribly." I don't regret it one bit. In fact, I should be engaging in illicit relations right now instead of enduring this absolute waste of time. I wonder… that barista at Starbucks would've been such as easy lay. I could probably just score some Lexapro from the Webber girl. And Hydrocodine… maybe some blow for Rose.

"Yes, for a boy your age, that's terrible."

"Absolutely." Not.

She continued to probe me for answers. I was growing more irritated by the second. I could only be relatively charming for so long. "And the depression, Edward? How's that?"

"What do you think? Do you perceive me to be some depressed little rich boy, Mallory?"

"Don't blame yourself… parenting has a great deal to do with it." She said, a smug grin spreading from ear to ear. HA, great parenting. Your 'great parenting' is evident in Lauren, one of Brighton Prep's premiere vacuous cokewhores. Or maybe it just runs in the family.

"I'm sure Carlisle would love to hear your opinions on his parenting." Seems I'll have to let Carlisle know how this shrew feels.

"Uh, well, I'm not implying that Carlisle didn't raise you well I—"

"What are you implying then?" The façade was over.

"Your file says you lost your mother very young…"

My head snapped in her direction and my nostrils flared, a wave of anger thrashed violently inside me. How dare her.

"DON'T speak of my mother. Think what you want of Carlisle, but you will not say a damn word about her. I've made plenty of progress throughout the years and for your information, I continue to. If I hadn't, I'd be laying here jerking myself off without a care in the world and getting off to you watching." Write that in my fucking file. Actually, that's probably already in there somewhere, I've said it to each one of my previous psychologists.

She glared at me; there was a nervous undertone to her features. I was beginning to make her uncomfortable. "How so? You've spent most of our sessions either completely in a different planet, dozing off, and what you have spoken of that isn't nonsense or rude, has been entirely cryptic. How can that possibly constitute as progress?"

I had heard what she said, but before I could put my witty repartee to use, my eye caught a "Seventeen" magazine partially hidden beneath a "Home and Garden" and "Psychology Today". I had never even looked twice at a "Seventeen" magazine before but on the cover was Megan Fox, a beauty I recognized anywhere, anytime and simply couldn't ignore. She was the fuck of my dreams. That tiny little body, perfectly proportioned breasts, arched eyebrows and full lips… And those sexy as hell tattoo's… My eyes shifted down to my crotch, I was sure I was about get a hard-on. I grabbed the magazine from the table and flipped through the pages quickly, looking for her article and picture spread. I heard Mallory clear her throat, but I just held up a finger stating for her to give me a minute. I continued to flip through, my eyes spotting a perfectly tanned long leg and I was sure I passed it. I flipped back a bit, but immediately stopped when from a page a pair of big brown eyes caught my attention. I opened the page and my jaw couldn't help but drop. Megan, who? On this page was the photograph of the most visually captivating girl I'd ever laid eyes on. Her skin was flawless ivory, it seemed porcelain and almost translucent, her cheeks were adorned by lightest shade of rose, and her full, yet proportional lips were a light plum. Her heart shaped face was framed by long, shiny chestnut colored hair that fell into curls and waves towards the bottom. But what I was completely entranced by were her big, brown alluring eyes. This was simply a picture and I felt lost inside them. They were infinite pools of milk-chocolate. Was she a model? She must've been. I had no problem conquering models. I conquered about 4-5 a week. My eyes desperately wanted to search for a name, a location… but I couldn't focus on anything but those beautiful brown orbs. Calling them brown seemed almost like an insult, brown was plain and boring; you immediately associated it with dirt. But they were far from plain or boring. I would come up with a more fitting name when I could think properly. I was also bewildered and taken back by the eerie resemblance they had to Esme's eyes. Although Esme's were emerald, this girls eyes were almost replica's. They had the same depth, shape, intensity and most importantly the same compassion Esme's had. I unwillingly tore my gaze away from them and searched for a name. I skimmed through the unimportant words as quickly as I could.

Something-something "manifesto" something-something "virgin"… I'd have to read this through later, something-something "marriage" something-something… aha. "Bella Swan".

I snapped back into reality. "Bella Swan."

"Edward! Edward Cullen, I have been repeating your name over and over and you've been mindlessly staring into space. Do you see what I mean? And who is Bella Swan?"

I shook my head, I was still somewhat lost, floating somewhere in the uncharted waters in this strangers eyes. "What?"

"You just said Bella Swan, Edward."

"Oh." Shit. I said that out loud? "It's a…. uh, a song. The song was stuck in my head."

She glared at me again, this time in disbelief. "You were staring at the magazine. Is it something you saw? Are you feeling okay, Edward?" I watched her as she scribbled words on her notepad. Fuck. She surely wasn't going to give me my meds this time around. I must've seemed completely drugged the past couple of minutes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'll just take the magazine and figure out this 'Bella Swan' thing later.

I regained composure of myself, took a deep breath, and looked back down at the magazine. I avoided the indefectible eyes completely and doggy-eared the corner of the page and placed the magazine under my phone on the table. I slipped back into my regular self and turned my attention back to Dr. Mallory.

"Sorry. The… song had been stuck in my head earlier and I finally remembered how it went. It seemed more important. And, I was feeling dandy until my prescription ran out." I had to speed this up somehow. I twisted my body towards her, now lying on my side. I focused my eyes solely on hers, figuring I could dazzle her somehow into just giving me my medicine so we could just end this awkward dance and we could both get what we wanted. I now had more important things to work on than sit in this stuffy, stupid office. If I managed to dazzle every other woman in New York into giving me what I wanted, whether it be a blowjob or a Venti sized coffee for free, not like I needed the help in any way, it was solely for the pride and ego that I could, then why couldn't I just get her hot and get my prescription?

I licked my lips and clenched my jaw, still burning my eyes into hers. I tried to convey the same intensity and feeling the stranger girls eyes had on me. Her eyelids began to flutter erratically and her breathing hitched. She pushed her short sandy blonde hair behind her ears with her left hand, her right hand clenched on to her pen. Perfect.

I got up from the couch slowly, her eyes still glued to mine, and walked towards her chair. I grazed my body against her arm before I stood behind her to lessen her composure a little more. I put my hand on her shoulders, and her body shuddered. I rubbed them lightly, her body tensed and rigid at my touch. "So, Stephanie… May I call you Stephanie? Listen…" I said using my low and soothing, sensual sounding tone of voice. I moved my hand up the side of her neck, caressing it gently and letting my fingers graze her collarbone. "We both know what we want here. And there's only 10 minutes left, so what's the point of even speaking?" I bent my head down next to hers and breathed against her ear and grazed my lips against her lobe. I could hear the acceleration of her heartbeat and her shallow breaths. I continued to play with her ear and neck, blowing my breath on it and tracing patterns on her skin with my finger tips. Her hand clamped onto mine that rested on her shoulder, digging her nails into my hand whenever I let my lips and tongue met her skin. "So, I think you should just write me my prescription, prescribe me whatever you'd like, and next Friday… I will make sure to make this hour truly worth every single dollar." I whispered, wetting my lips and planting a wet kiss on her neck behind her ear. She let out a small moan and tilted her head back, her mouth going slack. She opened her eyes and met mine; I bit down hard on my lip to seal the deal. She got up out of her chair quickly, running her hand through her hair on the way back to her desk. She pulled out exactly the pad I knew she would and began to scribble across the paper. I leaned against the chair where she sat, my arms crossed against my chest, grinning widely and piercing my eyes in her direction in case she snapped out of my trance and decided to change her mind. She did look up at me, but without a hint of indecision, only arousal. She tore the paper from the pad and walked towards me.

"Here. Here's you prescription. I can't prescribe you anything else… your father monitors what I'm giving you."

"Good girl. This'll do." I smiled. I took the prescription and shoved it into my back pocket. I walked up closer to her, and pulled her in for a hug. I pressed my body tightly onto hers, rubbing my crotch against her hip. She moaned once again, this time a little louder. Sessions would be going my way from now on, exactly how everything else went. I pressed the side of my face against hers and whispered into her ear, "Keep this up every session and I'll take it easier on you. If you don't, let's just say… Carlisle won't be pleased. Neither will your husband. Oh, and your moan… it sounds so much like Lauren's." I paused. "Hmm, I think a tad higher pitched though." I gave her ass a quick pinch and pulled back from her. Her jaw audibly dropped and her face contorted into a snide stare as she watched me saunter over to the table to grab my cell phone and the magazine then head towards the double doors.

"How… do you know that about Lauren?" she asked, her face now blank and pallid.

I shook my head and laughed to myself, before glancing back at her. "She's got a killer bod, Mallory. Quit overcharging." I pushed open the double doors and exited her office. I should've stayed and enjoyed watching her put together the pieces, finally figuring out I'd been railing her daughter and coming up with more demeaning ways to do so every time she decided to tack on an extra 300 for 15 more minutes of mindless chatter on her behalf. I strode past Jessica like she wasn't even there and continued out the door.

"Asshole." She muttered, before the door slammed closed. I could barely make out Jessica's remark over Mallory's shrill scream. It seems like sessions would be over from now on. And now to move on to the next unsuspecting victim. It was only 4:40p.m. and I'd already done a fair amount of damage., but not nearly enough that I was capable of.

I made my way out the building and back down to the Aston. As expected, I spotted a parking ticket pinned under my windshield wiper. I was actually rewarded with 3. I ripped them from my windshield, crumbled them, and threw them carelessly over my shoulder. What a waste of a valuable resource. My driving record was as clean as a whistle. I unlocked the Aston and got in, tossing my cell phone and the magazine on the passenger seat. I stared down at the magazine, and I didn't even see the goddess that is Megan Fox anymore. All I could visualize was the beautiful, peculiar stranger with the pale white skin and the molten chocolate eyes. I needed to get home, I needed to read this article and see her picture again. I need to figure out everything I could about this girl and how I'd get her. I wasn't worried, nothing was impossible for me, not for Edward Cullen. She'd be another trophy, another conquest. For all I knew she was another dimwit debutante I'd fuck senseless until a new one came along. I turned the keys in the ignition and the Aston roared to life. I stepped on the pedal, once, then twice more revving the engine as I felt the excitement and determination of a new, possibly difficult challenge looming over me. I sped past street by street, heading towards the Cullen Penthouse on East 83rd.

My phone began to vibrate against the seat. I grabbed it and checked the caller I.D.

"Rosalie! Exactly who I wanted to speak to. Listen, I need you to get some information on somebody for me."

"Rose, will you quit being a bitch for once and just do it? …Yes, it's some slut. Print whatever you can find and have it ready for me when I get home. I'll be home soon."

"The name? The name is Bella Swan."

Those eyes.

Authors note: Attention readers! This story is only going to get juicier. If you've seen Cruel Intentions then you have an idea of what's to come, but I'm definitely changing many things and adding certain twists to my liking. Alice, Jasper, and Emmett will be joining the story in the upcoming chapters and even a few additional Twilight characters will be making an appearance as well. I would really love some reviews, whether it's ideas or constructive criticism, it would be greatly appreciated! As far as the racial slur, I apologize if it offends anyone; I just wanted to emphasize how truly desensitized Edward is. I myself am of Italian decent, so, I guess in a sense I'm taking a jab at myself. The rating is M because there are some lemons in the future! Please review! Should I continue this tale or not?