A/N: Just so I don't have to do this for the rest of the series, since I tend to forget almost constantly:

Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer.


I really didn't understand their fascination with me. I was the daughter of a film producer and an eccentric director, but what did I do? I was their child. That was my only job in life: To be Charlie and Renée's daughter, to smile for the cameras, and to simply answer questions.

I was a socialite. And there was nothing I could do about it.

My sisters enjoyed the given limelight, thrusting themselves further and further into the hell hole that was fame. I sat back behind them, keeping my three-thousand dollar sunglasses on, and trying to look good so I didn't disappoint my parents. Alice was a young, bouncy fashion designer, and Rosalie was strutting everything she had on the runway—and she had everything.

While I sat in the background, rarely getting on television or in magazines, Alice and Rose would be getting front-pages and interviews around the clock.

But the world still wanted to know about me, which I simply could not understand. They practically foamed at the mouth whenever something about Isabella Swan would hit the news. Some magazines had even shoved Rosalie's wedding pictures for a front cover of me instead, declaring "Has Our Sweet Child Finally Found Her Beau?" Which I hadn't.

We'd gone out for lunch, sitting outside in the Los Angeles sun, while photographers snapped away at us. E! Network had twisted it into something nasty, and the poor boy—who was a completely normal teenager—couldn't handle the publicity and split so fast, I didn't have time to say goodbye.

I hadn't known why they liked to follow me just because I was the child of two incredibly wealthy, famous, and talented people. At least, I didn't until I met him.

I was on the set of one of my mother's movies when I saw him for the first time. I'd heard of him, seeing him occasionally on the television and on sidebars in magazines, but I'd never had the chance to meet him. He was an outstanding actor, portraying his background character so perfectly, it could easily be molded into a main character. Renée made that clear over lunch that day. She said she was going to talk to him and the writer to see if they could make a spinoff.

He was attractive beyond anything I had seen before. His features were angled, sharp, and when he smiled, the room followed suit. He had only spoken one sentence to me, but I had stayed awake all night for weeks, memorizing his voice. I tried to push him from my mind, but I found myself following my mom to the set like a puppy, just wanting to hear his voice, to catch a glimpse of him. Renée was too focused in her excited directing to notice my attraction to this man. To that, I was thankful.

I shouldn't be attracted to him at all. It was wrong. If something went too far, he'd be in serious trouble. And I would be the person to blame, though he would get the punishment.

It didn't stop him from contacting me. Perhaps he didn't know, didn't realize why we couldn't be together. Or perhaps he just didn't care at all—about him, his career as an amazing actor, about anything—because I soon found myself cradled against him in his bed on nights where I would sneak out of my two-story bedroom, landing into the rose bushes below and tearing up my arms and legs.

No one found out. And no one could find out. I didn't want the publicity. He didn't need the punishment.

Because he was twenty-two, and I had just turned seventeen.

This was never going to work.

A/N: So this is the start of my new story. I hope you enjoyed! I'm going to finish this, I promise! PLEASE REVIEW! Because then I shall squee all over you. :)