You Chose the Rich Girl, So Why Are You Paying Interest to Me

The digital closing confirmation for the downtown high-rise acquisition flashed green across my dual monitors. One hundred and forty million dollars, finalized with a single electronic signature.

I leaned back against the leather executive chair in my high-floor office, rolling the tension out of my shoulders. Before I could reach for my coffee, my personal phone vibrated violently against the polished mahogany desk.

Notification after notification stacked on the screen.

*You have been added to 'Silver Moon Inner Circle' by Bianca Cole.*

A cold knot tightened in my chest. I hadn’t seen that group name in five years. Not since the night I was exiled from the pack territory with nothing but a battered duffel bag and a canceled mate bond.

Before I could tap the leave button, a video file uploaded to the thread, auto-playing in high definition.

It was shaky footage taken backstage at the Silver Moon grand ballroom five years ago.

On screen, my twenty-one-year-old self stood beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the prep room, clutching the hem of an off-the-rack navy dress rented from a discount site. The seams were visibly strained where the cheap fabric had been pinned to fit my waist.

In the recording, the pack treasurer stood over me, his voice sharp and dismissive.

"The pack development pledge is two million dollars, Avery. Every prospective Luna pays it into the treasury before the announcement. If you can’t secure the funds, you don’t walk onto that stage."

"I have my academic grants coming in next month," my younger self whispered, her hands shaking as she tried to smooth her skirt. "Derek promised we could structure the pledge over time."

The camera panned toward the stage entrance as the heavy velvet curtain parted. Derek stood at the podium in a tailored tuxedo, his Alpha presence commanding the entire hall.

His voice boomed through the speakers, cutting straight through the backstage feed.

"Silver Moon needs a Luna who can build with me," Derek announced to the cheering crowd, raising a glass without once looking back toward the wings. "Not someone I have to carry. The engagement between myself and Avery Lane is officially terminated."

The video cut out.

The chat instantly erupted into a wall of laughing emojis and mocking comments.

*Bianca: Stumbled across this gem while organizing the archives for our anniversary party! Thought we should all take a trip down memory lane.*

*Marcus: Man, I forgot how bad that dress was. Looked like it came out of a discount bin.*

*Chloe: Did she really think academic grants could run an Alpha’s territory? Peak comedy.*

*Bianca: Be nice, everyone! Avery might be doing great now. Avery, are you still surviving on student scholarships, or did you finally land an entry-level desk job somewhere?*

*Bianca: Derek and I are hosting the Fifth Anniversary Founders’ Gala next Friday at the resort. We’re officially launching the Moonridge expansion project. We'd love to invite old friends, but donor seats start at twenty-five thousand dollars.*

A link dropped into the chat: an automated betting pool platform often used by the wealthy pack heirs for high-stakes wagers.

*Marcus: Opening the book! Will our broke little Omega show up to watch Derek and Bianca take over the valley?*

*Bianca placed a $100,000 bet: NO.*

*Bianca: Easy money. She wouldn't dare step foot in Moonridge.*

A new message appeared, the sender name sending a brief, sharp tremor through the screen.

*Derek: Put me down for $100,000 on NO as well.*

*Derek: She couldn’t afford the Luna pledge. You think she can afford a $25,000 donor seat? Let the girl stay hidden where she belongs.*

The group chat moved so fast the screen blurred with incoming texts.

*Marcus: Two hundred grand on the table! Anyone else taking easy cash?*

*Chloe: Nobody is betting yes. That’s literally burning money.*

*Tyler: She hasn't posted in five years. She probably blocked the whole pack.*

I didn't reply. I didn't type out a defense, and I didn't feel the urge to explain that I hadn't worked an entry-level job in years.

Instead, I sat in the quiet hum of my corner office, staring at the paused thumbnail of the video Bianca had shared.

The girl on the screen looked fragile, her knuckles white as she fought with everything in her to keep from crying in front of the pack elders. She had loved Derek. She had believed him when he swore that power and bloodlines didn't matter, only to be cast aside the second she couldn't write a check to validate his status.

There was no grief left in me for Derek. No lingering warmth, no longing, not even the phantom ache of the broken mate bond. There was only the memory of that girl, standing alone in a cheap dress while hundreds of people laughed at her ruin.

I minimized the chat and looked at my right monitor.

An urgent email sat at the top of my inbox, forwarded from my chief risk officer fifteen minutes ago.

**Subject: URGENT - Moonridge Resort Development Default Notice & Extension Request**

The email contained a formal plea from the Moonridge executive board, signed personally by Alpha Derek and his chief financial officer. They were begging their primary creditor for a ninety-day extension on a forty-million-dollar bridge loan. Without the extension, the entire expansion project faced immediate default enforcement and foreclosure proceedings.

The firm holding that debt was Lunaris Holdings.

My firm.

I opened the document, skimmed the desperate financial projections Derek had submitted, and hit the internal response tab.

*Extension request denied,* I typed to my lead counsel. *Proceed with standard foreclosure protocol at midnight on the fifteenth.*

I hit send.

Switching back to my phone, the group chat was still flooding with jokes at my expense.

*Bianca: Looks like Avery went completely silent. Typical.*

*Marcus: Pool stays open until the gala doors open. Easiest hundred grand Derek and Bianca will ever make.*

*Chloe: Avery disappeared the second she realized what real money looks like.*

I tapped the betting pool link.

The interface loaded, displaying the lopsided odds. The total pool sat at $240,000, with every single dollar wagered on my absence.

I clicked the custom wager field and linked my primary private treasury account.

I selected: **YES, I WILL ATTEND.**

In the amount box, I typed: **$500,000.**

The transaction verified instantly. A green confirmation badge flashed across the platform, updating the public pool in real time.

**[NEW WAGER: Avery Lane has placed $500,000 on YES.]**

The group chat instantly froze. The constant stream of jokes and emojis stopped dead.

For two full minutes, nobody typed a single word.

I tapped out a single sentence in the main thread.

*Avery: Don't close the betting pool before I arrive.*

I set the phone facedown on the corner of the desk.

Beside it lay the thick, bound legal portfolio ready for my final review: the complete asset takeover and foreclosure filing for Moonridge Resort.