Cartier Lover - Rafe Cameron

Chapter One

PEONIES

           There are three things to know before you read this. Number one, I never planned on falling in love with him. Number two, I did fall in love him. Madly, truly, deeply. Number three, this was my demise; falling in love, with him. Let's start at the beginning, I hate it here at the end.

          Life isn't a race, it's a fucking marathon. We're all working day and night striving to be better, stronger, richer. And in this all-consuming race we call life, there are winners and losers.

        I'm a winner, in case you were wondering. A winner by default. People talk and bitch about privilege all the time, it is exhausting- but it's true. Being rich is a privilege. Except the rich don't call it 'rich', they call it wealth.

        'An abundance of valuable possessions or money' the google definition. But the main distinguishing factor of wealth- it runs in the family. That is why I, Ivy Peseta Reynolds am at the front of the race.

       Don't mind the middle name, my great grandmother was Spanish. The truth is the race isn't fair, it's fixed. If you're born rich, you get a ten second head start. For every connection your family has, you get another. And another, and another.

        I know it isn't fair, but it benefits me so why would it matter? You're probably thinking I'm toxic, and I'm not even going to argue you with you. Because I am. I was bred that way.

        I guess that's another thing that goes hand in hand. Money and evil people. Two magnets continually drawn to each other for centuries. Too much power, too much control, too much corruption.

        It's the same story with the characters rearranged wherever you go. But the ending is always the same, the rich stay at the top. I guess the problemS with people behaving as if they are gods are plenty.

        Everybody says money can't buy happiness, the only thing money can't buy them- is a fucking brain. Money can buy happiness. Money can buy everything. I really hope you won't grow to hate me, I promise I'm not all that bad. But I guess you'll have to decide.

         It all started on September 21st. It was Autumn. This meant everyone was back from Summering in the Europe and ready for another torturous term at HayFort Academy, the number one school in the Upper East Side.

        Going to HayFort was like being a relative of the Queen's. Wearing the HF initial embossed jacket gave you all the credibility in the world. Only the elite, got to go to HayFort. That is, with a few gnarly exceptions here and there.

         I'm talking about the Pogues. Maybank. Routledge, Carrera and Heyward. They were the bane of my existence. The thorn in my side. To say I hated them, was an understatement. A few years ago, some idiot with a conscience decided the school only catered to the extremely privileged.

         So, they started letting these gutter rats in quarterly. It was the biggest mistake anyone has ever made. Luckily, my mother is on the school board and has been fighting to get them out for years.

         We're still to see the day when these parasites leave, shedding HayFort of any disgrace they brought with them. Routledge and Maybank might be out of here sooner though, seeing they flunk almost every class. Kiara wrote a ridiculous column for HayFort's newspaper.

          It was basically designed to make fun of the 'pretentious fucks' who go to school here, her words not mine. She would title the headlines the most stupid things based on events that happened to students during the week.