I should have read the reviews on this book before reading it. I managed to finish it only because I kept hoping for Beatrice Lacey to come to her senses. The incest plotline, which captivated me in V.C. Andrews' works as a teenager, now repulses me and made me want to throw this book into a raging fire. I can only recommend this book to people who thrive on watching people self-destruct. I think the author was shooting for something similar to The Picture of Dorian Gray (Oscar Wilde), and grossly missed the mark.