The Gangster Princess

Chapter 35

Chapter 35: The Ghost in My Bloodline

Jake Dee

People don't wake up one day and decide to be gangsters. Sometimes, the world chooses that path for you.

I didn't grow up dreaming of bloodied knuckles, back-alley deals, or underground fights. But the moment I was born, I was already branded-a mistake, a consequence of betrayal. My existence was never meant to be a blessing.

The moment I was born, the world made sure I knew where I stood: on the outside, looking in.

I grew up not knowing who my father was.

My mother, Lorene, was strong-too strong. She raised me alone, never speaking much about the man who helped bring me into this world. But I saw it in her eyes-the pain, the regret, the shame.

I was nine when I found out the truth.

It was raining. My mother was drunk, crying by the window. I asked her why she was sad.

And with trembling lips, she said:
"Because you remind me of a man who only loved me when it was dark."

That man Rocket Lee.
A married man.
A powerful man.
A man who gave my mother nothing but broken promises-and me.

At first, I didn't understand.
But as I grew up, I started to hate him.
And slowly... I hated the world too.

Because no matter how hard I tried, I always felt like I was less.
Less wanted.
Less loved.
Less human.

I was the child no one talked about. The product of a secret affair. Because my mother was the other woman.

A secret.
An accident.
An unwanted truth.

And me?

I was the living proof of betrayal.

While I was raised in the shadows of their perfect life, I learned early on that love was something you had to fight for.

That existence came with pain. That respect had to be earned with blood.

But life had other plans.

I became the rebel. The lost cause. I was the kid who picked fights just to feel something. The one who joined a gang not because I hated the world, but because I needed somewhere to bleed, to scream, to exist. I was angry, abandoned, broken.

That's where I carved my own identity.

Jake Lee-the cold-blooded fighter who didn't know fear.

I started fighting in school-at first, to protect myself. Then eventually I started enjoying it.

It became an outlet.
Pain was the only language I understood, and my fists became my voice. I got expelled twice. My mother gave up on fixing me.
I stopped being her son. I became her burden.

At thirteen, I ran away for the first time.

I slept on benches, stole food, and joined street kids who taught me how to survive.

That's where I met Dre, a boy older than me by three years. He introduced me to the world I never thought I'd belong to-the underground fighting scene.

At first, I just watched. I was skinny, too young, and had nothing to offer.
But then one night, one of their fighters backed out. Dre looked at me and asked, "Gusto mo ng pera?"

I said yes.

I always said yes to pain.

That was my first fight.