I straighten in my seat. This is my opening. “He went through a lot when he was a child.” I pause, then add. “Levi told me.”

Sorrow covers her features as she slows down cutting the potatoes. “He didn’t talk much.”

“Why not?”

“He was a lonely child. He spent his days in the library with Alicia.” She scoffs. “When she was out of her room.”

I lean closer, cradling the hot cup between my cold fingers. “Was he close to his mother?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Why unfortunately?”

“Because her madness rubbed off on him.” Her lips twist. “He’s never been the same since she was locking herself up with him in the library reading crazy books about crazy people.”

“Crazy books?”

She throws her hand in the air. “Philosophy and psychology rubbish.”

I frown. Those aren’t crazy books, but I don’t correct her. I can’t get into an argument with her if I want to keep her talking.

“Alicia was never normal anyway.” Margo watches her surroundings before she leans in to whisper, “I heard from one of her friends that she suffered from depression after an accident. She was out with her friends and they all died except for her. She was been the same since then.”

Survivor’s guilt.

I heard about that. Hell, If my nightmares are of any indication, then I might even be suffering from it myself.

“Was that before she got married?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Still. Alicia got married and had Aiden, so she couldn’t have been that bad, right?

“There were a lot of tragic events in her life, so I tried to understand, I really did.” Margo chops the potatoes harder. “But she shouldn’t have brought Aiden to the world if she was going to be a zombie most of the time.”

“Tragic events?” I ask.

“Yes, her father was a lord, but he was abusive. Her mother committed suicide because of that and I think, I’m not sure, he continued to beat Alicia until she got married.”

My heart swells for the woman I only saw through the picture. The petite, quiet-looking woman.

So basically, Alicia was a mentally unwell person. I’m curious why Jonathan would marry her. I’m sure he knew her past. These types of families do an extensive background check about the ones they’re going to marry.

Jonathan King doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d marry Alicia. His type loves the perfect housewives with perfect everything, don’t they?

“Was it an arranged marriage?” I ask Margo.

“No. Mr King chose her himself.”

Oh.

Maybe he did love her. But well, I find it hard to believe that Jonathan would love anyone. He doesn’t even seem like he loves his own son.

This needs more digging.

I just hope I don’t end up regretting it.

“Can I see the library?” I wrap my fingers around the hot chocolate. “I have some homework.”

“It’s down the hall to the left.” She motions at the potatoes. “Sorry I can’t show you.”

“It’s okay.” I gather my backpack and take the drink. “Thanks for this.”

“Let me know if you need anything to eat.”

“Will do.”

At first, I attempt going to the upper floor where I think Jonathan’s office is, but then as I walk down the hall, I notice the small blinking cameras.

Shit.

How come I never noticed them before? And who the hell keeps cameras inside his house?

Defeated, I head to the library. The space is so vast, it nearly swallows the entire ground floor. It’s even bigger than the theatre room — and that says something.

Rows and rows of books extend as far as the vision can go.

Old books. Big books. Hardcovers. Paperbacks.

Hell, there are even a few first editions here.

I wonder if they have some Sun Tzu in this place.

Three dark wooden tables with cushioned seats are arranged neatly in the middle of the room. It smells of old paper, and I can’t help but inhale the scent.

I place my backpack and drink on a table and walk to the wooden rows. run my fingers along some books written in Russian and in French.

Someone is a polyglot.

Keeping my head down, I check the corner in case there are cameras lurking in here.

I don’t notice any blinking, but that doesn’t put me at ease.

The King’s mansion has this eerie quality to it. I’m on high alert the entire time.

I only let go when Aiden is around, but maybe that’s a mistake, too.

A few psychology books grab my attention. Margo mentioned that Alicia read those to Aiden.

The other day, Cole also mentioned that Nausea, a philosophy book, belongs to Aiden.

I pull a paperback about the light in the mind or something. It’s the first time I hear about it. It’s written by J.E. Hampton. Never heard of him — or her.

There’s dust on the book, so it hasn’t been touched in years.

I open the book.

The dedication says,

To unknown. You should’ve killed me.

The ‘You should’ve killed me’ part is underlined with a red pencil.

I open the first pages and read. It talks about someone who’s trying to find his way after chronic depression. I read a few pages and I notice some words underlined in red like in the dedication page.

Lost.

Help.

Live.

Alive.

Dead.

It goes on until the end of the book.

I retrieve another one. Nothing is underlined in the dedication, but inside the book, similar words are underlined.

Save.

Kill.

Love.

I pull another book then another and another. It’s almost the same in all books. Then I find something different.

The dedication in another book says,

To J, Thank you for saving my life.

It’s crossed in red and under it is written in elegant writing.

‘You shouldn’t have saved my life.’

My breathing catches. Is this Alicia?

I retrieve about ten books and sit on the table, going through them.

I find a dedication that says,

To the fighters. Stay alive.

Under it, there’s that same elegant handwriting.

‘The worst thing you can tell a person who wants to die is to stay alive.’

I gulp.

So she was suicidal.

Did Aiden know that?

My heart squeezes at the thought of a little boy witnessing his mother’s suicidal tendencies. Did she do something traumatising in front of him?

A wave of nausea hits me at the thought.

I go through the pages some more.

I find another dedication.

To my son, you gave purpose to my life.

There’s a line under it and then a smiling face. My heart warms until I read the writing beneath it.

‘But I wish you were never born.’

I blink, reading it again.

Did she say that about her own son? What the hell?

The book is old and dusty and doesn’t seem like it’s been touched since Alicia’s death. With one last look to my surroundings, I stuff the book in my backpack.

Aiden might be a bastard and I hate him sometimes, but I would never want to scar him this way. He shouldn’t see what Alicia wrote about him.