I have a close relationship with somebody who knows the truth—someone whose real name I don’t know, true, but still: a man I shared my honest thoughts and feelings with for years. He was a man. He wasn’t Melissa—how could I suspect that, even for a second? He shared his thoughts and feelings with me too, in a way that neither of us ever has with anyone else.

He cares about you. He’s a killer, but he loves you. He’s obsessed, and when you’re obsessed, you’ll do anything.

You’ll do anything, also, when nothing matters to you more than finding out the truth.

I touch the letter keys on my phone’s screen with the tip of my index finger. “Dear Gavin/King Edward,” I write. “We need to talk. Can we meet, as soon as possible? N x”

I press “send.”

THE MAN YOU WERE with at the Chancery Hotel . . . it wasn’t me, or anyone you know. He was a stranger.

Words that will hurt for the rest of my life. Hurt of a kind that most people never feel.

I managed to remain coherent in order to find out as much as I could. I emailed back immediately. “What do you mean, he was a stranger? If you sent an acquaintance of yours to have sex with me—a process he failed to see through to its logical conclusion, incidentally—then you must know his name. I’d like to know it too.”

As I pressed “send,” I was thinking, “I could call the police. I’ve been raped. This is rape, what’s happened to me. Even though . . .” And then I remembered myself on that bed, and how I’d felt at the time. I realized how pointless it would be to think in terms of the police. They’d probably never find him—King Edward would protect him—and even if they did, he’d be sure to mention in court how much I’d enjoyed it. And Adam would find out, and my children would find out . . . No, it was unthinkable.

Another email arrived from King Edward within five minutes. “Nicki, are you crazy?” it said. “You honestly think I’d send a stranger—a real stranger? You think I’d do that to you? Wow, I’m pretty cut up about that. KE7.”

“You told me he was a stranger,” was the most I could manage in response.

“You’re right, I did,” King Edward wrote back. “Please forgive me—I’m not thinking clearly at the moment. I’m all over the place, to be honest. Nicki, it was me. Of course it was me. The man you’ve been writing to since June 2010 and the man in that hotel room are one and the same. KE7.”