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him? That you've never worked anything but charity because you'd been living off the inheritance your parents left behind when they died in a tragic car accident?"
    This wasn't happening—couldn't be happening...
    "I wonder if you bothered to tell your recruiter it wasn't just a simple inheritance you received, but that you are actually the heir to a vast fortune, that you have enough money not to have to work another day in your life. How did you get around explaining why you wanted to join? Did you give him some speech about patriotic pride?"
    "Fuck you."
    "What Brenna? Don't like hearing the truth? ” he spat. “Are you upset because I'm calling you out on your hypocritical bullshit? You want to thumb your nose at me for hiding things, but you have done the same for many years."
    "I don't have to take this."
    I went to rise from my seat, but he grasped my arm, holding me in place. “You will not walk away from me."
    We sat there, staring each other down. It was in those few tense moments that I realized how dangerous he truly was. This threat wasn't physical. No, it was something so much worse. He wasn't going to let me run. He was going to make me face this—whatever ‘this’ was.
    In such a short span of time, my captor already knew how to get past barriers I'd carefully erected. He knew how to bring down my emotional defenses. He had the means to draw me out. Clear as crystal, I read it all right there in his eyes. He knew just how to break me.
    "I get it. You can stop,” I said, tears threatening once again.
    "I'm not even close to being done.” He released my arm. “We checked up on those charities you've worked for. Your parents started each one of them years ago, and you have kept them running since their death. But what I find strange is that the positions you listed on your application were low level—manning the food lines at soup kitchens, picking up trash off the beaches, passing blankets out at the battered women shelter—"
    "Please,” I whispered. “Don't do this."
    "I'm going to place a bet that the people you worked with at these charities never knew your real identity. Your fellow volunteers thought you were ‘Average Jane’ off the street and had no idea that it was your money funding the projects in the first place. You never even told them you were a doctor."
    I didn't respond. Why bother denying or confirming anything?
    He continued. “You were once dismissed from a volunteer job at a homeless shelter where you managed the finances for hinting to the director that he should stop pocketing the money and put it to better use, such as more blankets and cots. He chewed you out, and you left without protest. How ironic you should be fired from your own charity for accusing someone of embezzling your money. But did you stand up to him there? No. Couldn't reveal your secret, could you? Instead, the mysterious benefactor sent him a letter later that day, relieving him of his position."
    I stared off into space, occasionally wiping the silent tears that rolled down my cheeks. God, how could he know all this? And why did his words hurt so much?
    "Why do you live this secret life?” he asked. “Why do you take the back seat on things when you're more than capable of being in the lead? Why do you live the life you do, instead of living the life of an investment heiress?"
    "Perhaps I never had the opportunity,” I offered softly, instantly regretting the moment the lie rolled off my lips. I knew better, and so did he.
    "You were twelve when your parents died. Your sole living relative, your grandmother, took over your care. Intelligent and resourceful, you graduated high school when you were sixteen and left for the university. You were nineteen when your grandmother passed away and you received your inheritance. Besides paying your college tuition and funding your charity work, you've done little with the money. You have no children, no husband, just a couple of past boyfriends that never became