Page 1 of Surrender to Me

When 28-year-old Honey Lake arrives at a secluded luxury island for an exclusive entrepreneur retreat, she’s focused on securing funding to turn her struggling beauty brand into an empire. But money like that doesn’t come easy—until she crosses paths with 41-year-old Legend Waters, a dangerously wealthy, tattooed boss who always gets what he wants.

He sees something he likes in the ambitious beauty and makes her an offer—for the rest of the weekend, she belongs to him. No rules. No limits. All she has to do is surrender her mind, body, and soul to him. In return, he’ll write a check big enough to change her life.

It’s an indecent proposal Honey should refuse. But with temptation staring at her in the form of inked skin, commanding hands and a voice that makes her legs weak, walking away isn’t an option.

“Girl, I swear this island is straight out of a fucking fantasy.”

I pressed my phone against my ear as I pushed my small suitcase across the private tarmac, taking in the sheer luxury ofIluna Cay. The heat hit me first—thick, golden, and humid, wrapping around me like a slow caress. The scent of salt, hibiscus, and something impossibly expensive filled the air, making me realize just how out of my element I was.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Tyrae teased through the phone. “Honey, do you know how many people would kill to be on that island right now? This is your shot, bitch.”

I exhaled. She wasn’t wrong.

The Elite Entrepreneur Retreat wastheeevent for up-and-coming business owners. Investors flew in from all over the world, looking for 'the next big thing', and somehow, I had landed an all-expenses-paid invitation through my TikTok account.Not that I didn’t work my ass off for it.

I wasn’t just some random influencer who got lucky. I had built something.Honey Luxe Beautystarted in my small kitchen almost two years ago. At first, it was just DIY skincare for myself, then for my friends, and then before I knew it, I was shipping out small-batch organic products to hundreds of customers. When my viral TikTok video explaining the power of clean beauty took off, my sales tripled overnight.

That’s how I got noticed. That’s how I got the invite. Now, all I needed was at leastoneinvestor to believe in me.

“I know, I know,” I muttered, adjusting my sunglasses as I followed a small group of guests toward the waiting golf carts. “I just... girl, I think these people are on a different level. Like… I’m trying to get a brand off the ground. They already have multiple successful exits. What makesmedifferent?”

“And what do I always say?”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to be in the room to be the richest, just the most talented.”

“Damn right. Now get off my phone and go be unapologetically you.”

“Fine, fine,” I laughed before hanging up.

By the time I arrived to the resort, an attendant dressed in an immaculate white linen uniform was already waiting for me, a glass of chilled champagne in hand. “Welcome to Iluna Cay,” she greeted smoothly. “I assume you’re here for the retreat so please, allow me to escort you to your villa.”

I accepted the champagne, my fingers grazing the chilled glass as I took a sip. It was crisp, perfect, and probably worth more than my rent back home. By the time I was alone in my villa, I felt both awestruck and restless.

The space was gorgeous—a flawless blend of modern architecture and tropical luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a balcony overlooking the water, and a bathroom that looked straight out of a five-star spa.

I slipped out onto the balcony, leaning against the glass railing as I took in the view. Turquoise waves lapped lazily against the shore, the sky painted in soft hues of orange and pink as the sun began its descent. I had never seen anything so breathtaking.

And then, something caught my eye. A man—tall as hell and ridiculously fine—walked along the beach like he owned the damn ocean. Shit, maybe he did. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of tattoos on his chest leading to the ones on his strong-looking arms on his chocolate skin. The salt and pepper beard thing worked for him too.

Well, goddamn…I swallowed hard, watching as he disappeared down a private path. Something about him sent a slow, unwanted chill down my spine. I shook off the distraction and focused on the real reason I was there. Walking back into my villa, I started to get ready for the mixer that was in an hour.

I slipped into a cream-colored maxi dress that hugged my curves in just the right way and brown wedges with gold accessories. It was professional but also just enough to make an impression. I kept my makeup glowy and effortless, the kind of look that said I was already successful, I just needed the money to match. I left my hair out of its twists, long and wavy, cascading down my back. Although I was sure I’d regret it as the night went on and it was stuck to my neck from the damn heat.

The mixer was beautifully organized on the grand terrace of the resort. It oozed money, power, and exclusivity. A string quartet played softly in the background and servers glided through the crowd with flutes of champagne and gourmet appetizers.

I forced myself to exude confidence, stepping into the crowd, mingling, shaking hands, smiling like I wasn’t freaking out inside. I introduced myself to a few other entrepreneurs—some cool, some so full of themselves I had to resist rolling my eyes. I met a woman named Mosha Sinclair, who had already secured funding and offered me a few tips.

“Investors don’t care about passion,” she said, sipping her wine. “They care about scalability. Play up your numbers. The rest is fluff.”

Noted.I made my way toward a group of investors, my heart pounding, but I pushed through. I gave my pitch—concise, polished, exactly the way I had practiced for weeks. And yet…

“Sounds interesting, but I’m looking for something with a higher growth trajectory.”

“I’m not really in the beauty space.”

“I’d need to see more financials before even considering.”

Every rejection was polite but brutal. By the time I had struck out with my fifth investor and turned down yet another corny dude asking for my phone number, my stomach was in knots. I needed air. As I walked off, my heels clicking against the stone pathway, frustration bubbling inside me. That’s when I saw it—a dimly lit bar, tucked away behind a set of black-paneled doors.

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