Natali reclined on a velvet chaise lounge in her Moscow penthouse, sunlight streaming through towering windows that framed the city skyline like a painted masterpiece. The room was an opulent blend of marble, crystal, and gold accents—luxury embodied. She sipped champagne from a flute, her manicured fingers delicately wrapped around the stem.

A soft chime signaled a visitor. She didn’t bother to rise; instead, she gestured toward the butler to answer the door. A man stepped in—a nervous yet determined suitor clutching a leather briefcase. His eyes darted toward Natali, who offered him nothing but an arched brow. “Natali,” he began, voice wavering, “thank you for meeting me.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, her assistant handed him a sleek tablet displaying her fee schedule. $1,000 for a greeting. $5,000 for an hour of her time. The man hesitated, his trembling hands extracting crisp bills from the briefcase. She only smiled after the transfer was verified.

“What do you want?” she asked, her tone indifferent.

“I… I think we could—” he stammered, but she cut him off with a raised hand. “I’m not interested,” she said flatly, standing and turning away. “But thank you for the contribution.” To Natali, this wasn’t cruelty; it was efficiency. Why waste time with men who couldn’t afford her lifestyle? She’d built a fortress of wealth, ensuring no one could penetrate it unless they were worthy. To her, love was a commodity, but money? Money was eternal.