The Gangster Princess

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen: Bloodlines and Secrets

Aisha Fancy Lee

A week.
Seven whole days since I got sick and made yet another mess of myself.

I wish I could say it wasn’t a big deal, but the memory still clings like smoke. The fever, the tears, the way I broke down in front of him like a child seeking comfort. I hate it. I hate that he saw that side of me—soft, vulnerable, dependent. That version of Aisha wasn’t meant to be seen. Not by anyone. Not even Mama and Papa. Especially not by Kuya Spencer.

And then the bathroom incident.
Don’t even remind me. That’s filed under “top ten things I want to erase from my entire existence.” Gross. Embarrassing. Stupid.
But whatever. That was last week.

Today, I needed air.
It’s Sunday. Perfect day to blend with the crowd, do some retail therapy, or maybe just walk without a destination. Not because I didn’t have pamasahe—please, I’m not that broke—but because sometimes, silence in the streets is better than silence in my room.

I wore a black hoodie, tied my hair into a high ponytail, slipped my earphones in, and started walking like the city owed me peace.

And for a second, I actually thought today would be boring.

Until I saw chaos break loose.

Four guys sprinted across the sidewalk like their lives depended on it. I turned, raising a brow as I instinctively stepped aside. One of them shouted—

“Hell, tara na!” one of them shouted.

Hell?

My brows pulled together. That name—somehow, it felt familiar. Then I saw him. The guy they called Hell.

Tangina. That jawline. That walk. That presence.

I swear, if it weren’t for the blood on his knuckles and the way he moved like a storm, I would've laughed. Because guess what? That wasn’t just some random gangster.

It was Kuya Spencer.

I watched him disappear into a black van, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—sharp, calculating, like he was built for this kind of danger. That wasn’t the Kuya who nagged me about curfews or forced me to eat vegetables. That was someone else.

I flagged a passing tricycle.
“Manong, sundan niyo po yung van na itim.”

“Sige po, ma’am,” the driver nodded, and we sped off.

☽ a//z ☾

We ended up at some abandoned building on the outskirts of the city. Rusted gates. Shattered windows. A vibe that screamed “illegal stuff happens here.” But I didn’t hesitate. I’ve seen worse.

I moved quietly, sticking to the shadows. I knew better than to just barge in. I needed to see, to listen.

I heard voices echoing from inside.

“Tss. Madaya silang kalaban,” I heard Kuya Spencer—a.k.a. Hell—say.

“Paano na yan? Malamang hindi magpapahuli si—”

“Shut up,” he cut the guy off before he could finish.

So it’s true. Kuya is part of this world. The same world he told me to stay away from. Hypocrite much?

Then his voice turned sharp.
“Lumabas ka diyan.”

My heart skipped. Damn. Busted.

I smirked. Typical. Syempre ramdam niya presensya ko. We’re siblings after all. But I wasn’t planning on just showing myself plainly. This needed drama. So I slipped on my black mask.