Name My Price

A sparkling Maybach, a ceiling studded with stars, and silence, in which the phone stubbornly glows red with “green” messages. Everything seems beautiful - a fleet of cars in the parking lot, clocks ticking in unison, new connections nearby. But the brighter the luxury shines, the stronger the draft of loneliness blows through. And even if the night is sweetened by luxury and someone else's embrace, a strange coldness remains inside - one that neither the numbers in your bank account nor the leather on the seats can save you from.