Strategic Assets

Isabelle watched the progress bar tick toward completion, the lines of code reflecting in her oversized glasses. The subliminal embedding software was now fully installed—on Riley's phone, on his laptop, even hidden in the cloud drives that synced across his devices.

Every photo Riley uploaded, every selfie, every boomerang of his ass in a mirror or lipstick review in soft lighting—it would all be carrying the message.

You think this post is interesting. GirleyRiley is interesting. You think she is beautiful and sexy. You want to like her post and comment about how beautiful she looks. You want to follow her so that you can see her in more posts. GirleyRiley is very interesting. She is very sexy. You want to show just how interesting and sexy she is to all of your friends. You want more people to know about GirleyRiley.

It didn't matter the platform. TikTok. Insta. Threads. Even Pinterest, for god's sake.

Riley, of course, wouldn't notice a thing. But the world would start to shift around him. He would believe the sudden rise in followers and horny DMs was a natural response to his beauty, an indication that his new online persona had broad appeal, that he was a talented influencer. If anything, it would reinforce the changes that Isabelle had been making in him, perhaps even push him further. The way he pouted, the way he walked, even the way he dressed would start to shift further and further into the realm of thirst trap, both online and in real life.

She clicked the laptop shut, satisfied.

A little smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. It was going to work. She could already feel it.

She leaned back in her chair and brought her fingers to her mouth. The taste of Riley's lip gloss was still faintly there, a synthetic strawberry-champagne blend that clung to her skin longer than she liked.

Why had she even added the suggestion about practicing kissing?

There were easier ways to reinforce his femininity, easier paths to make him **** for Chase's approval. She could've kept it platonic. Could've framed it as beauty training, posture lessons, emotional conditioning. But no. She had let him kiss her. Not well. Not passionately. But still.

It had stirred something.

Not attraction—no. That part of her had shut down a long time ago. Riley, before, had been awful. All cocky looks and lazy hands, treating her like an object and never understanding how quickly her affection could sour into something colder. Sharper.

The old Riley didn't deserve Isabelle.

But this version? This trembling, blushing, soft-eyed version who begged her for kissing lessons, all the while fantasizing about a man at the gym?

This version was... well.

The word powerful appeared in her mind.

Not Riley. Her. Isabelle.

She had made this.

She stood up and moved to the mirror, tilting her head slightly as she examined herself. Lipstick still clean. Hair perfect. Not a trace of what she was feeling showed on her face. And that was how it needed to be. The show had to go on. Riley needed to believe she was unimpressed. Cold. Reluctantly helpful.

He couldn't know that the kiss had thrilled her—not emotionally, but strategically. It had confirmed what she already knew: she could take the same boy who used to grunt and roll over after sex, and teach him to plead for practice, convinced it was his own idea.

She would never kiss him again. Not until those lips were full enough. Pillowy. Worthy of attention.

Maybe she'd bring a date by next week. Some man with thick forearms and a knowing grin. Someone who'd kiss her against the wall while Riley watched, silently trying to figure out how her lips looked from that angle. Dreaming about how it felt to be Isabelle in that moment.

This is how a girlfriend kisses her boyfriend, baby girl.

But first things first.

She needed to assess Riley's financial situation. A few quick keystrokes later, she had his account pulled up. His savings were nearly gone—just enough for the lip fillers and maybe a few new outfits. Something racier. More leg. More chest. Something with buckles or mesh. Things that would pop online.

After that, he'd be tapped out.

Isabelle didn't worry.

Not for long.

Soon his followers would skyrocket. The right angles, the right poses, the right thirst-trap captions, all gently guided by her coaching. And when the DMs turned to sponsor offers, she'd be ready to step in as manager.

You want to support her. You want to pay her. You want to be part of her rise.

She could already see the future: salon appointments paid for by subscribers. New clothes arriving in the mail from brand deals. Maybe even a livestreaming setup, if they played their cards right. Isabelle had heard that OnlyFans could be a good source of revenue.

Riley would never need to punch a clock again.

Because GirleyRiley wasn't just a thirst trap. She was a product.

And Isabelle? She was the brand architect.