Makeovers and Money

Isabelle tapped at her keyboard, scrolling through Riley's financial dashboard, her eyes narrowing as number after number loaded onto the screen. Then she stopped.

She blinked. Refreshed. Checked again.

"Holy shit," she muttered under her breath.

The streaming revenue alone was absurd. But sponsorship deals had started trickling in—offers from beauty brands, lingerie lines, even a luxury bottled water company that claimed GirleyRiley embodied their brand of "effervescent femininity." The email inbox was bursting with digits Isabelle had never imagined seeing outside of fantasy.

He was rich.

No—not rich. Staggeringly, absurdly, disgustingly rich.

She leaned back in her chair and exhaled slowly, the magnitude of it washing over her. That kind of money meant freedom. It meant options. It meant that there was no ceiling, no limit, no reason to hold back.

She was still riding the high of this realization when Riley came bouncing into the room.

He wore a crisp white blouse tied under the swell of his breasts, a plaid pleated skirt that barely reached mid-thigh, sheer stockings that clung to his legs like a second skin, and a red-and-black striped tie loose around his collar. A mock-schoolgirl look—one of his new back-to-school options, he'd told her. The effect was devastating.

"Hi Isa!" he said, all breathless energy and glossy lips. "I just wanted to say thank you sooooo much for letting me have the house last night. Chase and I had such a special time. I think I really started to connect with his needs. Like, really connect with them."

Isabelle closed the browser tab and turned to him, curious. "Oh?"

Riley nodded rapidly, flopping into the nearby armchair with a bounce. "Not only did we get to kiss—which was amazing—but I got to help him meditate again, and my girls," he paused to grab his breasts, "gave him a hug at the same time! You should have seen how happy he was! I was all sticky!"

He beamed, clasping his hands in his lap. "I’m just… I’m so happy, Isa. Chase makes me feel like I'm really being the girl I'm supposed to be."

Isabelle smiled, watching him carefully.

"And the game on Friday!" Riley added, nearly squealing. "I'm soooo excited! All the other girls have been working their asses off and it's going to be incredible. I can't wait to show off for Chase. He's gonna look up at the sidelines and be like, 'That's my girlfriend.'"

Isabelle let the silence stretch for a beat. Then she tilted her head.

"You know," she said softly, "you've come so far, Riley. From where you started to now… you're practically a masterpiece."

Riley blushed, ducking his head. "Thank you..."

"But," Isabelle continued, rising from her chair and walking slowly toward him, "you're not just any girlfriend, are you?"

Riley shook his head. "No, I'm GirleyRiley. I'm Chase Donovan's girlfriend."

"Exactly." She perched on the arm of the chair beside him. "Which means the standards are higher. The potential is greater. A normal girlfriend might've already done enough. But you? You can do so much more."

Riley's eyes lit up. He looked at her with open, hungry awe. "What else can I do, Isa? I want to be the best for him. The best he's ever had. The best anyone has ever had."

Isabelle leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well… I've been doing some reading. It's a new technique. Fringe science. Still under wraps. But I know a guy."

"A guy?" Riley breathed.

"Bone matter redistribution," Isabelle said, the words tasting electric in her mouth. "It's fast, high-precision, and insanely expensive. But it allows for an exaggerated hourglass—taking from where you don't need it, and giving where you do. They can harvest from your lowest ribs to cinch your waist, then redistribute that bone to your hips. Same material, same body. Just... reshaped."

Riley blinked, digesting.

"And," she added, watching his pupils dilate, "they can even pull some from your hands and feet. Make them daintier. Women don't like big ogres stomping around. Neither would chase. Shorten your Achilles so heels feel natural, easier to move in—so not wearing them starts to feel wrong."

Riley gasped. "Isa… that sounds perfect. Can—can I really do that? Please? Please help me? I want it more than anything. I want to show Chase just how good his girlfriend can be. I want people to look at me and know that he deserves the best."

"I'm not sure," Isabelle said, playing coy, "it's a big commitment to make a change like this, and not exactly legal. You'll have to trust me to take care of you. Are you ready for that?"

"Of course I trust you! I swear I'm ready," Riley begged, "Please! Turn me into the best girl I can be. I'll do anything. I don't know if I have enough money, but if I do, you can have it. Anything. What do you need me to sign? What do you need me to do?"

Isabelle reached over and took his hand, running her thumb along the painted nails.

"Then let's make it happen."

She turned back to her desk and opened a new tab. A VPN kicked in. An encrypted browser loaded. And slowly, deliberately, she typed in the private address she'd memorized the week before. She could call the lawyer the next day and get some documents drawn up to formalize her financial relationship with Riley. That kind of money would be wasted on someone like Riley, anyway. Isabelle could put it to good use. Maybe she could even ask about the process of having Riley legally changing his gender.

But for now she had a task at hand. As the page loaded and a secure chat window blinked to life, she glanced back at Riley—still perched in his chair, skirt riding high, eyes full of spark and trust.

Yes, Isabelle thought. The best is yet to come.