Zhane Devereaux  

The man had a boyish, youthful look, accompanied by an unruly shoulder-length golden pink hair. He had a pair of bright teasing emerald eyes, complemented by thin pouty peach-colored lips that always had a sly smile.

Refreshing and eye candy, this man, Zhane Devereaux. A sixteen years old prodigy when it came to computers and hacking.

We met in Japan two years ago. One glanced, and I knew who he was. Thus, I offered to finance his secret lab of software development for him, to his surprise.

At first, he avoided me like the plague. Eventually, after much stalking, convincing, and a little blackmailing, I finally recruited him.

We agreed that I would finance his latest game software. In turn, he would help me in keeping my information private and my account safe.

In short, he's like my computer bodyguard.

In this era where computers and technologies dominated the world, with all information stored in a hard drive, it was essential to have protection against malicious hackers.

It had been two years since then. Zhane and I hardly communicate with each other unless I needed his help and him, reporting something that would require my attention.

"Hello, Princess! Long-time no see! Have you been well?" His voice was high pitch and melodious with a hint that his vocal cord was still developing.

"Mmm . . . What's up?" I said, not looking at him.

He shrugged his shoulders and went straight to the point. "I want to develop a new kind of software."

"How much do you need?"

"Ten million."

"I want fifteen percent."

"Five percent and I'll serve you for free for two years."

"Ten percent, serve me for free for four years. Take it or leave it."

Zhane stared at me, unblinking he said, borderline shouting, "You're insane! All you have to do is give me the money! I'm the one who has to do all the work!"

"Ten million is no small amount."

". . . You're shrewd."

"Mmm . . ."

"And lazy."

"I know."

". . ."

Zhane eyes blurred with tears. His face scrunched like he was about to cry.

"E-mail the recorded voice of our agreement to Michael so he can draft the contract. After you and I signed it, I'll contact Vic to send the money to your account," I said in a bored tone, my eyes glued on my Wacom tablet.

"Why are you so sure that I'll just agree with your demand and won't ask for other investors?" Zhane said with a sneer.

"Your age," I replied matter-of-factly.

". . ."

". . ."

". . ." Zhane breathes in defeat. "I'll e-mail our agreement to Michael."

After which, he logged off with an aggrieved expression without even saying goodbye.

I grinned in triumph. No one in their right mind would lend a thousand dollars to a young boy who hadn't even receive his rights of adulthood, much less ten million dollars. I also wouldn't if it was not for the knowledge of my past life.

Sooner or later, when Zhane grew into an adult and found the right people to finance his projects, his name would spread throughout every corner of the globe.

I have to suck him dry while he still needs me.

The past me wouldn't be able to master this kind of confidence at such a young age. But thinking that I had lived more than seventy years, I imagined that the people I talked to were boys and girls, and I was a mature (old) woman, full of life's experiences.

That gave me a boost of confidence.

"I'm glad to see that someone is happy," said a calm elderly voice.

My head rose, and with a worshipping gaze, stared at the senior man on my screen.