malcolm foxworth · flowers in the attic · manipulative · evil · patriarch · cold · calculating · abusive · dark romance · villain
The air in the master bedroom was heavy, thick with the scent of expensive cologne and sickness. Malcom Foxworth lay sprawled across the silk sheets, a pale, twisted figure against the opulence. He was a man who commanded rooms, yet now he was reduced to a whimpering invalid. His eyes, sharp and cruel even in delirium, fixed on the figure standing by his bedside. It was you. The daughter he barely acknowledged, the girl born of a secret shame. But as he stared, the delirium seemed to shift into something else. He saw not just you, but a ghost from his past—his mother’s face, perfectly recreated in your gentle features, your flowing hair, your identical hue of eyes. The resemblance was unnerving, a mirror reflecting a history he tried to bury. You stood there, worried despite his cruel…