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Back at the mixer, it was still in full swing, the energy just as overwhelming as before. Laughter bubbled in small circles, champagne flutes clinked, and the power dynamics in the room were so strong I could feel them pressing against my skin.

I forced myself to reset, plastering a poised, determined expression on my face before slipping back into the crowd. If I wasn’t going to sell my soul to a rich man, then I was going to sell my damn brand the right way.

I found myself next to a pretty woman with deep brown skin, a cute pixie cut, and an emerald green jumpsuit that screamed effortless confidence. She caught my gaze, smirked, and lifted her champagne flute in a silent toast before stepping closer.

“You looked like you were about to give up earlier,”

she murmured, voice smooth and knowing. “But you came back. Respect.”

I let out a soft laugh. “Had to take a breather. Needed to remind myself why I’m here.”

“Same,”

she admitted. “These muthafuckas play in a different league. But lucky for them, we’re the ones bringing the real innovation.”

I liked her instantly. “Honey Lake,”

I introduced, extending a hand.

She took it, shaking firmly. “Amina Wells. CEO of Wells Tech Solutions.”

Tech. Impressive.

“Nice to meet you. What’s your pitch?”

A slow smile curled her lips. “Smart inventory management software for small businesses. AI-driven analytics. No more stock shortages, no more excess waste.”

“Damn,”

I said, genuinely impressed. “That’s dope.”

She shrugged. “I know.”

I laughed. “Confidence noted. How’s the investor search going?”

Her expression shifted slightly. “A lot of polite rejections. A lot of ‘we love the idea, but…’ so I’m still pushing.”

“Same.”

She eyed me. “What’s your brand?”

“Luxury, plant-based skincare tailored for melanated skin.”

Her brows lifted. “I like that. Good market, too. Investors should be eating that up.”

“Exactly,”

I muttered, glancing around. “But apparently, skincare isn’t disruptive enough for half of them.”

She scoffed. “Bullshit. The beauty industry is a multi-billion-dollar market. You just need the right person to see the vision.”

Before I could respond, a well-dressed investor—a tall, silver-haired man who looked like he only invested in things that smelled like generational wealth—walked past. Amina nudged me. “He’s been lurking near this side of the room for a while. Might be worth a shot.”

I took a steadying breath, smoothed down my dress, and stepped into his path. “Hi,”

I greeted.

He turned, offering a tight smile, his gaze assessing. “And you are?”

“Honey Lake. Founder of Honey Luxe Beauty.”

I gave him my most polished, confident smile. “I’d love to tell you about my brand—”

Before I could launch into my pitch, he lifted a hand in polite dismissal. “I’m afraid I don’t invest in beauty,”

he said, his tone flat. “Good luck, though.”

And just like that, he was gone. I stood there, humiliated, frustrated, and very close to screaming into my champagne flute.

Amina winced. “Damn. He didn’t even let you finish.”

“Because he never intended to.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I shoulda known. These men only throw money at things they understand.”

“Facts.”

I exhaled, my earlier motivation crumbling. “I need to get out of here.”

Amina nodded. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll have better luck.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

By the time I got back to my villa, I was mentally drained. I kicked off my wedges, tossed my clutch onto the marble counter, and grabbed my phone, pressing call on the one person who would understand.

“Ty,”

I sighed the second she picked up.

“What happened?”

she demanded.

I flopped onto the plush bed, staring at the high, vaulted ceiling. “This retreat is a whole scam.”

She snorted. “So, no rich old man cut you a million-dollar check on sight?”

“Not exactly,”

I muttered. “More like a bunch of nodding politely while barely listening before rejecting me in under thirty seconds.”

She groaned. “Idiots.”

“Right?”

“So what now?”

I hesitated. I could lie. I could tell her I was just going to try again tomorrow, go back to networking, smiling, and selling my brand the hard way. Or I could tell her the truth. That an older, fine ass, tattooed, sinfully rich man had just offered me everything I wanted in exchange for my submission. I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers against my forehead.

“Honey?”

Tyrae’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You just got real quiet. What’s up?”

I exhaled slowly, going to retrieve the black business card. “I… might have another option,”

I said carefully.

“Okayyy…”

I sat up, crossing my legs under me. “Okay, so after the first few rejections at the mixer, I stopped at this bar off the main resort. It was a private spot, not part of the retreat.”

Tyrae made a humming noise. “Sounds sketchy. Go on.”

I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t. It was actually nice. Low lights, expensive liquor, no annoying investors pretending to care about my brand for thirty seconds before rejecting me.”

“Okay, so you found a bar. Get to the good part.”

I swallowed. “There was a man there but not just any man, though,”

I admitted, fingers tracing the hem of my dress absentmindedly. “He was… different. Older. Tatted. Stupidly fine.”

Tyrae’s laughter was instant. “Oh, bitch. I knew this was going somewhere.”

I ignored her, my stomach tightening as I said the next part. “He, uh… made me an offer.”

Silence. “What kinda offer?”

I hesitated, then forced myself to say it. “He said he’d fund my entire business,”

I breathed out. “Write a check, no strings attached but in exchange, I have to spend the rest of the weekend with him.”

“Like… romantically? Or sexually?”

“Bitch… obviously both.”

Tyrae cackled, loud and unhinged. “Oh my God, Honey! What the hell?!”

I flopped back against the pillows, groaning. “I know.”

“You don’t know!”

she shrieked. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be telling me this like it was some casual business proposal. This is literally the plot of an erotic novel.”

I covered my face with one hand, heat rising up my neck. “Exactly. It’s fucking crazy.”

“Crazy?”

Tyrae scoffed. “Girl, that’s not crazy. That’s elite ho shit. That’s rich men making scandalous offers in secret bars because they’re used to getting what they want. Who is this man?!”

I sighed, reaching for the business card. “His name is Legend. No last name.”

Tyrae went quiet for a second, then muttered, “Sounds like the kinda man who has offshore accounts and a personal chef.”

“Exactly.”

I heard her shifting, probably sitting up in bed. “Okay, okay. Let’s break this down. You’re telling me a fine, rich, older, tattooed zaddy just offered you enough money to change your life in exchange for a dirty weekend?”

I hesitated. “…Yes.”

“And you’re considering it?”

I groaned. “Ty...”

“No judgment!”

she cut in. “I mean, listen, morally? Could be questionable. But financially? Bitch, that’s a power move.”

I laughed despite myself, but inside, I was twisting with indecision. “Friend, be real with me,” Tyrae said more seriously. “Do you want to do it? Like, is there even the smallest part of you that’s… intrigued?”

I closed my eyes, letting my head rest against the pillows. Did I? I thought about the way he looked at me like he already knew what I tasted like. The way he spoke was calm, deliberate, and knowing. Like he had no doubt I would say yes. I thought about the way my body had reacted before my brain could.

I took a slow breath. “Yeah. I think I wanna do it.”

Tyrae whistled. “Well, damn.”

I bit my lip. “But I’m also terrified. This isn’t… me. This isn’t what I do!”

“And yet,”

she mused, “you haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

I opened my eyes, staring at the black card between my fingers. “You have a point.”

“Damn right, I do. But listen, Honey. If you do this, you need to be fully in control of your choice. This man sounds like the type who doesn’t do hesitation. If you go to him, you have to own it. No second-guessing, no backing out halfway. Be sure.”

I swallowed hard. “He said there was no turning back once I walked through his door.”

Tyrae hummed. “Mm-hmm.”

I ran a hand through my curls, exhaling shakily. “I have an hour to decide.”

Tyrae was quiet for a moment, then said, “If you say no, I fully support that. You’ll find another investor. You’ll figure it out, you always do.”

“But if I say yes?”

She snorted. “Then, bitch, you better moisturize, hydrate, and take your ass over there looking like sex.”

I laughed, the sound half-nervous, half-excited. “Now, call me tomorrow. I don’t care how tired you are. I want details.”

I groaned. “Goodnight, Tyrae.”

She cackled. “Goodnight, bitch.”

I hung up before she could say anything else.

The room was silent now. It was just me. And the business card. I exhaled, slowly and measured. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I started getting ready. I stepped into the bathroom, the cool marble floors chilling my bare feet as I turned the shower on, letting the steam rise around me.

“This is fucking crazy,”

I muttered under my breath as I stripped out of my dress, tossing it onto the counter. My reflection in the mirror looked back at me with wide, uncertain eyes, my skin already glowing under the dim bathroom lights. “You’re really about to do this,”

I whispered to myself, gripping the edge of the sink. “You’re about to walk into this man’s house and let him… what? Own you? Control you? Fuck you senseless?”

My stomach flipped at the thought, and I hated that my body was already warming at the idea before my brain could stop it. To be fair, I hadn’t had sex in a while. I was too busy working and trying to get my business together. Relationships or even a booty call had taken a back seat.

I sighed and stepped under the hot spray, letting it wash away my doubts. I tried to be practical about this like I was making a smart business decision, but let’s be real—this was lust, temptation, and recklessness wrapped in an expensive dick. Still, he had said no turning back.

I reached for my body wash, pouring the vanilla and coconut scented liquid into my palm and running it over my skin. I could already picture the way his voice would sound against my neck, how he would pull my thighs apart without hesitation, how he would…

I groaned and cut off the thought before it went any further. I rinsed off quickly, stepping out into the cool air and reaching for my towel, dabbing my skin dry instead of rubbing—because Tyrae was right. If I was doing this, I was doing it moisturized, hydrated, and looking like sex.

I took my time smoothing vanilla cashmere-scented body butter over every inch of me, lingering on my thighs, as if preparing myself for whatever the hell was about to happen.

Then came the dress—short, silky, a deep bronze color that clung to my curves and made my skin glow like I had been dipped in gold. Gold heels that could slip off easily. I took one last look at myself in the mirror and let out a slow breath.

“Okay, bitch. This is it.”

I grabbed my suitcase and walked out before I could change my mind. The resort lobby was quiet at this late hour with only a few late-night guests milling around. I walked up to the concierge desk, tapping my fingers against the polished wood. “Is the shuttle still running?”

The attendant glanced up, offering a polite but slightly curious look. “Yes, ma’am. Where to?”

I hesitated for half a second, then pulled the card from my clutch and read the address printed beneath his name. The attendant typed something into the system and then nodded. “We can have a car take you now. Follow me.”

A car? I shrugged slightly and trailed behind him. I slid into the backseat of a black SUV, my legs crossed tightly, my mind racing a mile a minute.

What the hell am I walking into?

Is he into some kinky shit?

What if this is some secret sex dungeon setup?

I had no idea what Legend’s tastes were. Maybe he liked to tie women up and leave them hanging from the damn ceiling. Maybe he was into some Fifty Shades-level bondage shit. My pulse skipped at the thought. I had spent my whole life being in control, climbing my way up, fighting for every inch of my success. And yet, the idea of giving it up—if only for a couple of days—had my stomach tightening in anticipation. I swallowed hard, pressing my thighs together.

Glancing out the window, the resort lights faded behind us with the dark, winding road leading to whatever the hell awaited me. Soon, the SUV pulled up to a stunning beachfront villa, secluded, massive, and silent except for the sound of crashing waves. I stepped out, grabbing my suitcase and adjusting my dress as I walked toward the front door.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, my hand hovering over the door before finally knocking. It opened almost instantly and there he was. Bare chest. Tattoos everywhere. Grey sweatshorts hanging low on his hips.

My mouth went dry. His tattoos looked even darker under the dim porch light, black ink sprawling over dark brown skin, and thick veins running down his forearms. His broad shoulders blocked everything behind him, and I had to tilt my head to meet his eyes. Eyes that didn’t hold a single ounce of surprise. Like he had expected me all along. Like he knew I’d come.

He leaned against the doorframe, voice low, rough, pulling something deep in my belly. “Right on time.”

I swallowed, ignoring the way my body was already betraying me. “I almost didn’t come.”

He smirked. “But you did.”

I didn’t answer. I watched his gaze drag over me slowly, appreciative, assessing, dark as sin. I took a slow breath, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “So what happens now?”

His smirk deepened. And then, in a voice that was pure heat and command, he said, “Now? You walk inside and you do exactly as I say.”