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Dizzy, terrified, disoriented… I’m only vaguely aware of something tight being wound around my wrists, binding me to the chair.
“Please—”
“I thought you would understand,” he growls savagely. He yanks at the binds around my wrists, making me gasp sharply and choke out a sob as they cut into me.
“I thought you were just like me,” he snarls. “I mean you stabbed him, Ella!”
“And that was wrong!”
“That was course-correcting fate—”
“You aren’tGod, Jacob!”
He stills, his eyes swiveling back to me, narrowing.
“I’m one of the richest men in the UK. In the entire world, actually. I snap my fucking fingers, and things are done for me; brought to me,bowedbefore me.”
He growls as he whirls, storming across the garden. He reaches behind some plants, and I go cold when he pulls out one of those big red plastic jugs that people carry gasoline in.
“I created a media empire because Iwantedto. The Tinder date who stood me up?”
He smirks.
“I found him. I had my people go to his house, give him money, and bring him here, where I fucked him.”
His lips curl wickedly.
“Because Icould. I amuntouchable, Ella. I can choose if a person lives or dies with impunity. I could topple a government if I chose to, and starve its populace. I could trash an entire stock market, buy out a pharmaceutical company and make the life-saving drugs they sell so prohibitively expensive that people die by the hundreds of thousands.”
His words rasp out, full of malice, smugness, and indifference.
“And if none of that makes me a fucking God, Ella,” he hisses right in my face. “Then I don’t know what the fuck does.”
I’m numb as he turns and starts to spill the contents of the red jug across the patio. It reeks of paint thinner and kerosene, and I stare in horror, beginning to hyperventilate, as he douses the plants, the chairs, and the tabletop with it.
“Jacob,” I gasp. “Please don’t do this.Please!”
“What are you going to do, Ella,” he hisses. “Marry me? Fuck me? After I rip your life apart, like Noel?”
Tears stream down my face.
“Please!”
“I willalwaysdo what is necessary,” he grunts quietly. “Always. To protect me, to protect my father—”
“You can still be a god and show mercy,” I choke.
He smiles cruelly, frowning.
“When has Godevershowed you mercy, Ella,” he growls. “You’d have to be a fool or a masochist to actually think that.”
He shakes his head slowly.
“No,” he growls. “God is not merciful.”
His eyes lock with mine.
“And neither am I.”
