CHAPTER ONE
THE PAST
The familiar feeling settled in my chest before traveling down to my stomach as I watched them.Them—the popular clique whose last name would open doors others were forbidden to enter. The fortunate people who created the division between thehavesand thehaves notby simply existing. The ones who seemed to have a perpetual pass when it came to following the rules. They were above the law, we were beneath it, and both sides instinctively knew it without having to be told. Though anyone whose last name held any relation to Montague, Fitzgerald, Carmichael, or Spencer had no problem reminding those of us who didn’t.
“Megan, stop staring at him before they see you,” my best friend, Christine, whisper-shouted at me.
“Let them see me. I don’t care.”
“You know they’ll start their shit again if you draw their attention. They’re not worth the hassle.” Christine grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward her car. “Besides, if you get into another fight with Blair Weston, you’ll get expelled. Then you’ll lose that full-ride scholarship to Harvard you’re applying for next month.”
“You’re right. They’re not worth it. I’m getting away from this place and everyone remotely related to Montague Manor.” I slid into the passenger side of her Altima. My treacherous eyes drifted back to Wyatt Spencer Weston, the twin brother of my arch nemesis. The very handsome brother of the snobbiest bitch in my high school.
Wyatt Weston. With his blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect athletic build, he was the epitome of good breeding. Tall and muscular, he played every major sport and excelled at all of them. Football quarterback. Basketball captain. Baseball pitcher. Ask any girl at Ridgeview High who her dream boyfriend would be, and she’d say Wyatt Weston without a doubt.
When I was a little kid, I never understood why my family discouraged me from wanting to see inside the old plantation-style manor. It was the most beautiful mansion anyone in my small world had ever seen. But when I’d beg to go to work with my mom just so I could see for myself if the interior matched my imagination, she’d harshly admonish me and order me never to wish for that again.
But by the time I was old enough to start school, the blue bloods of Savannah had effectively put me in my place. I never again questioned my mother about visiting the mansion. As the lowly daughter and granddaughter of Montague Manor servants, my future was no brighter than what my parents and grandparents had endured. I was expected to follow in their footsteps and be an invisible servant to cater to the already spoiled upper class.
I supposed any small town had similar problems. There were the chosen few who were held in higher esteem, and those whose last name would forever damn them to the dregs of society. Perhaps it only seemed more pronounced to me in our coastal city of Savannah, Georgia, but that perception was all I had while growing up.Perception is reality, they say. It most definitely was my perception, my reality, and my prison cell.
Blair Weston thought she was personally responsible for the keys to my cell and frequently jangled them in my face. Especially when her friends were around to watch my humiliation for sport. She’d make her snide remarks about my lack of designer clothes or how the cut, color, and style of my hair was “solast year,” then all her little groupies would join in with her obnoxious cackle. Living through that type of hell would push anyone to the limit.
I hit that limit at least four times a year over the last twelve years of being stuck in the same school system as her. When we were little, I’d wait to seek my revenge when we were on the playground. To the teachers, it appeared as if we were just playing. But Blair and I both knew the times she “tripped in her new expensive shoes” and bit the dust was courtesy of yours truly.
Finding satisfying opportunities for payback was harder the older we became. Recess was a thing of the past, and Blair wasn’t as clumsy. Still, there were times after gym class she’d find her new designer handbag soaked in the girls’ toilet. Or her math books and folders would mysteriously disappear from her locker, forcing her to redo her homework. When I learned our math teacher was from New York City and wasn’t impressed with the local pedigrees, I took full advantage of his zero-tolerance policy on missing homework.
While I was distracted, ruminating over my sordid history with Blair, Wyatt turned his head and caught me staring directly at him. Our gazes locked, and an invisible fetter connected us. His eyes widened in surprise, and one side of his full lips quirked upward. He quickly caught himself and stilled his smile. He tried to appear nonchalant when he glanced around at his cohorts in elitist crime, but I knew exactly what he was doing.
He was making sure they hadn’t caught him looking at me because he was embarrassed to admit he was attracted to me.
I shook my head in disgust and slid my shades over my eyes. Christine’s laughter drew my attention before she jerked the driver’s door open and slid into her seat. Her beautiful smile split her face in half, and I couldn’t help but smile in return, even though I had no idea why she was so happy.
“Oh. My. God. Can you believe that?” She bounced up and down in her seat, thrumming with excitement.
“Believe what?”
“Are you telling me you didn’t hear a word of what just happened outside this door?” Her jaw was slack, her brows were drawn down, and her eyes were wide with disbelief—at first. Then her eyes disappeared behind tiny slits, but I still felt her glare. She turned her head and followed the line of sight directly in front of me. “He’s still looking at you, Megan King. You’ve been staring at Wyatt Westonagain. When will you ever learn?”
“Are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to make up my own version to tell everyone?”
“Jayce Ellison just asked me to go to the homecoming dance with him!”
We squealed together like the high school senior girls we were because Jayce Ellison was the best-looking guy at our school, second only to Wyatt. The best part was he had a winning personality and was genuinely a good guy. He moved to Savannah early in high school, long after the rest of the school had subscribed to the expected traditions and no longer questioned why certain families were better than others.
I threw my arms around her neck and hugged her to me. “I’m thrilled for you, Chris. You’ll have a great time with him.”
On the ride home, we made plans to go shopping together over the weekend to find her a dress to wear to the dance. Jayce was our best running back and the main reason everyone in our district turned out at the Friday night football games. Our winning streak was courtesy of his outstanding athletic abilities. Christine wanted to look especially beautiful when she walked into the dance on his arm.
She dropped me off with the promise to pick me up first thing in the morning for school, then we’d start combing the mall for the perfect outfit over the weekend. Mom was home early from work, which was never a good sign. The tension enveloped and suffocated me the moment I stepped inside our small home. She and my father sat at the table, holding hands and murmuring quietly to each other.
“Hey. What’s wrong? What happened?”
Dad stood and wrapped his arms around me. “It’s nothing, sweetheart. How was your day?”
“Come on, Dad. I’m the valedictorian, so I’m obviously not stupid. Tell me what’s going on.”
He sighed heavily and lowered his face toward the floor. “Your mother tried to talk them into letting me come back to work at the manor. She was sent home for three days without pay to think about where her allegiance lies…with their family or with ours.”
