A/N: I reread my chapters and decided they needed some work. This is how I spent my winter holidays .... rewriting and revising until I got it the way I liked it! So if you've read before, reread! There are some differences. Some are big, some are small. But hopefully better!

Thankz for reading if I forget to thank you later!


Chapter 1: Back to Foxworth Hall

Foxworth Hall loomed tall and scary, yet great and beautiful before my very eyes as my car slowly ascended the circular driveway . I parked my red Mercedes and got out of my car, shielding my eyes against the hesitant sun that hovered above the white puffy clouds.

Foxworth Hall. A place of hopes and dreams that were never met accompanied with lies that grew like the vines that shot up all over the brick walls of my castle. I had once thought Foxworth Hall was the greatest house ever built, ten times more magnificent than the houses of the Vanderbilt family.

I at one time had believed Foxworth Hall held some promise and joy to me. But all of the promised joy had been cleverly wrapped and contained only deceit and lies. But the promise of happiness, of wealth at my very fingertips, had made me drunk with desire. Mother and Chris were both dead, deep down into their graves. Not on this property, but in the cemetery in South Carolina with Paul Sheffield, Henny, Aunt Carrie and Uncle Cory, and others. My father was long dead, dead before my birth. I had always wished to meet him, just once.

Mother had loved him. She hadn't loved me. Or least she hadn't acted like she had. She was clearly afraid of me. Afraid I'd go berserk and start acting like Malcolm Foxworth himself. How evil he was. He had been the reason for all of the skeletons in our closet. He had created the nightmare that haunted the hearts of my mother, Chris, Aunt Carrie and Uncle Cory, Jory, me, and everyone else in our family.

Our family was cursed. I wasn't evil. I was just a man who wanted to be loved, to be cherished, to be pleased. What was wrong with wanting to be wanted in your family? To have someone to love you wholly and so passionately that they never wanted to let go of you? My mother never thought that I had any views on love. I never expressed them to her, or anyone else.

I was afraid to be loved, but I desperately wanted to be loved. And I wanted to love in return. Was that evil? Mother had always loved Jory best, because she had failed to love his father enough. I was interested to find out what kind of man his father had been, but Mother had never said much about him, except that he was stubborn. Paul Sheffield had been sweet and kind, she had said, and my father had literally swept her off her feet into her arms, so romantic she swooned. And Chris, of course she had thought of him as perfect. I had never recognized him as my father and I had been truly sorry when he had died.

I had realized how childish and stupid it had been of me to be so rude of him, when he had loved me as his own. He had saved me from losing my leg when I was younger. Why hadn't I been more appreciative? All because of Malcolm! And John Amos Jackson! He had loved me even though I'd been nothing but an ungrateful brat towards him. I was even ashamed of the way I had treated Cindy. Cindy was not one of us, but Mother had treated her as if she really was one of us. She sure looked like a Foxworth. Blond hair, blue eyes.

I suppose the hatred between us had started out as my pure jealousy of her. Mother had enjoyed dressing her up and playing with her while I hid in the shadows and watched enviously. She'd NEVER wanted to play with me. Or take me fishing. All she'd wanted to do was dance, show her attention to Chris, Jory, and Cindy. No wonder I'd love my mysterious grandmother so much. At least she'd appreciated me.

Jory and I were dark haired. Jory had dark blue eyes and mine were dark brown, almost black. I was glad I wasn't blond. I myself liked my dark intense look. Besides, there were too many blondes in our family. Thank god I'd gotten my father's hair. Many women thought my dark handsome looks were appealing, but who was I kidding? Women only liked me because I was rich beyond their dreams, and they didn't give a damn about me. So why should I give in to them? I thought I'd never get married. It was hard to trust anyone anymore. Sometimes I couldn't even trust myself.

Jory and Toni had moved out of Foxworth Hall, as had Cindy. As a matter of a fact, Cindy was living with them and the twins, and Jory and Toni's new baby, Christopher. I'd never have children either. I didn't deserve children.

I lived all alone in the great house, with only Trevor and his cat for company. No wonder I drank myself into a long nap, or worked myself to death. I had no friends. No one at all to talk to. I had been in a deep depression when Mother had died, when Trevor had found her clutching the sweet, yet sad note about the purple grass, about her dear Christopher up in Heaven. Never would I be as lucky as to find a woman who would love me so much that she grieved for me like Mother had grieved for Chris.

I sighed and got out of the car. I went inside and found everything spotless and neat – the way I liked it. I went up to my office, sat in my reclining chair, and poured myself a drink. Home sweet home.