This atmospheric and moving novel from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Flowers in the Attic and Landry series—now popular Lifetime movies—combines a forbidden romance with a family fortune and a young girl in peril. Caroline Bryer is the daughter of a very conservative TSA agent and former military brat, Morgan Bryer. Her mother, Linsey Bryer, is a descendent of the Sutherland real estate family. Their organized, suburban life in Colonie, New York is rigorously regulated and leaves little room for deviation from the norm. When Linsey, Morgan, and Caroline attend the wake of their neighbor Mr. Gleeson, they meet his charming daughter Natalie “Nattie” Gleeson, who works for the American ambassador to France. Linsey and Nattie strike up a fast friendship as women of a similar age in very different places in their lives—Linsey a devoted mother and housewife, and Nattie an international diplomat living an independent and freewheeling life. Their friendship soon evolves into a romance, leading to the collapse of Linsey’s marriage and her disinheritance from the Sutherland family fortune. In true V.C. Andrews fashion, a whirlwind of unexpected death, family estrangement, and a forbidden inheritance become Caroline’s new reality as she struggles to navigate the loss of her mother, the mind-boggling wealth of the Sutherland family (who quickly lock her away from the world), and the loss of contact with her father following the divorce. One of the most popular authors of all time, V.C. Andrews has been a bestselling phenomenon since the publication of Flowers in the Attic , first in the renowned Dollanganger family series, which includes Petals on the Wind , If There Be Thorns , Seeds of Yesterday , and Garden of Shadows . The family saga continues with Christopher’s Diary: Secrets of Foxworth , Christopher’s Diary: Echoes of Dollanganger , and Secret Brother , as well as Beneath the Attic , Out of the Attic , and Shadows of Foxworth as part of the fortieth anniversary celebration. There are more than ninety V.C. Andrews novels, which have sold over 107 million copies worldwide and have been translated into more than twenty-five foreign languages. Andrews’s life story is told in The Woman Beyond the Attic . Join the conversation about the world of V.C. Andrews at Facebook.com/OfficialVCAndrews. Chapter 1 I have come to believe that I was almost wrong to be a child, to be a prisoner of hope and good dreams and see brightness and color in a world that could quickly rain down darkness and rage. Daddy used to say, “At the moment you are born, you get your first hint that bad things can happen. That’s why babies cry. “It might be the last time they’re right.” Fortunately, until I was nearly thirteen, I really had never known deep unhappiness or dreary silence. My days were filled with music. There were balloons on birthdays along with funny talking cards, toys, books, and pretty clothes and shoes. I overheard my early grade-school teachers, in whispers, praise my mother on how nicely dressed she kept me. At times I felt more like a precious doll than just another little girl. But most of all, there was music, lively and fun. It was almost like a soundtrack in a movie accompanying whatever we did or wherever we went. Our house was rarely silent and shadows were never foreboding. They were simply pauses in the stream of sunshine, like commas in a sentence, and certainly nothing to fear. Like most children whose view of the world was formed in comfort, having all the love and attention needed, living in a safe community as well as attending a good school with caring teachers, I thought my joy and contentment would last forever. I had only glimpses of poverty, social injustice, and crime. My mother especially shielded me from all that when I was very young. “There will be plenty of time later for this horror,” she might say when turning off something on television. Daddy didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue vociferously about it. The most he would do was issue a warning. He would almost sing it: “You’ll be sorry if you turn her into a turtle.” Sometimes, when I was five, I tried to imagine what that would be like. I would crawl under my blanket and poke my head out at the foot of the bed and then quickly pull it back under as if I had seen something ugly there or something to hurt me. It wasn’t terrible, but it was boring under a blanket. In that special place in my heart where I kept secrets, I put this one: I agreed with Daddy. I didn’t want to be a turtle. I wanted to be more like him and be strong enough to face down anything ugly, anything mean. But for all my early childhood years, there was really nothing terribly unpleasant in my personal world from which I should hide anyway. Consequently, for me there was only one season back then: spring, when everything brightened and everyone wore a bright, warm smile like the smile of the sparrow in the preschool picture book