Dealing with the guvnor is like eating a dragon fruit. It has a very different shape, just like the guvnor's mindset of anger. One moment, he may be standing at a distance, talking to you, and the next, he can be right on top of you, his hands soaked in blood, slashing at your neck with his knife in a sour manner, much like the taste of a dragon fruit. He does resemble a small monster, and when you cut the fruit, you can play with it, much like his mouth opening and closing, scaring little creatures. Just like that, when the guvnor opens his mouth, people and enemies shiver at his name. When you see the gray color of the fruit, matching his hair, he may seem like a young teenager playing tough, but when you count the seeds in the fruit, you realize how many lives the guvnor has taken.

I used to live with my uncle's family. my family left me when I was a kid that's what my uncle told me, that my father died in an accident and my mother left me with them. and she is living somewhere with her new husband. she said to my uncle that I will remind her to her old husband and with a dialogue that "it's your blood then you should take care of your blood. I never agreed to have sex with his father." and left me at their gate and so that they didn't send me back to her.

He is married to a devil. When I was sent here, I was only one year old. The first thing she did was check my pockets and a small bag left with me to see if there was any gold or money. I realized this much later, almost when I was grown up, after catching her on old footage from the house's main outdoor camera. I was lucky to have stolen my uncle's keys to the security room. Then, I started placing hidden cameras in every discreet corner of each room. I saw her putting something in her daughter's food and in my uncle's food as well.

My nights at my uncle's house were spent reviewing the day's footage, and at night, I would go to work with him. Uncle Razer was in charge of nearly forty workers at the factory, which specialized in merchandise manufacturing.

Whenever I went to the balcony to water the plants, my eyes would always catch a pack of cigarettes discarded in the corner near the drain. One day, I found an unused cigar sticking out of the box. I didn't waste any time; I hid it between my fingers, grabbed a matchbox from the table drawer, and rushed to my room.

When I lit the cigarette, I didn't realize I was using the filter side. I was only inhaling a small amount of smoke, which was a relief because it made it harder for air and smoke to pass through. This quickly became a habit, as smoking from the other side caused more burning than the usual way people smoked. Not having much desire to live, I let the cigarette draw the life out of me.

At night, crushing a cigarette between my fingers and watching my aunt became a routine. I often wondered what she was putting in their food and why it didn't seem to affect them. It didn't kill them instantly; every day, they would sit in the same spot, eating the same food she prepared, and they seemed to enjoy it. She would laugh as if she were serving them some kind of immortalizing feast.

Would that medicine kill them slowly? Perhaps it was rotting their kidneys from the inside. But her husband was already ruining his life by smoking countless cigarettes daily. I used to think that was the worst of it, but my perspective changed when I saw her daughter consuming an entire pack in a day. It seemed like the world had no shortage of reckless souls. Yet, there had to be someone to solve these problems and it was me.

It pissed me off when I couldn't find the matchbox in the same place. She moved it daily. One day, out of frustration, I shoved a burning cigarette into her shoes. That's when our war began. She sometimes tore my clothes, which were few to begin with—I had only four or five T-shirts. In retaliation, I threw her annoying pink princess dress into the stove. The dress caught fire, and soon the flames spread to the wooden wardrobe, then to the cupboards, and eventually the entire kitchen.

Watching the kitchen catch fire didn't give me much satisfaction, but seeing the girl's tear-streaked face did. However, the pleasure quickly turned to horror as the fire spread and started moving toward my aunt's room. All her branded clothes were burning.

I didn't realize at the time how much my act of revenge would cost me. It led to my being thrown into an orphanage and facing my uncle's fury. Only then did I understand that my aunt had never liked me; it was her decision to send me away. I mean, of course, they wouldn't want to keep a boy who set their house on fire.

At the orphanage, my uncle started visiting me, but I never agreed to see him. He always brought sweets, but if I happened to catch a glimpse of him, I couldn't focus on anything he said. My gaze was always fixed on the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. His talk about my mother trying to reach out to me irritated me and spoiled my mood for the rest of the day.

Who would want to talk to a woman with a voice as grating as her awful nature? The first time I picked up her call, I decided never to answer again. Due to the strict rules and tight schedule at the orphanage, smoking fell out of my routine. One day, I was informed that a woman had come to see me. I was confused because I knew there were only two women in my life: one might be coming for revenge, and the other perhaps to donate some money.

Yes, my aunt was wealthy and had put me into an orphanage where she was a part-owner. In one of our meetings, she warned me never to tell anyone that I was her niece. The next day, rumors spread that she had abandoned her son. I had simply replaced "niece" with "son," and it took her months to clear up that misunderstanding.

Inflicting pain on others had become part of my life, but living in the orphanage was still tough. If my uncle had come and asked if I wanted to go back with him, I would have nodded. However, it seemed like a miracle when my aunt arrived that night and asked me to come with her. It gave me a strange sense of satisfaction, especially since she came at midnight, standing near the kitchen with a large knife in her hand. This sight instantly brought a smirk to my face.

As I walked towards her, she held up a hand, signaling me to stop. When I tell you she was a devil, I mean it. With a nod of her head, her dragon-like face and unseen thorns on her head, she told me, "If you want to come back with me, you need to kill someone." Her eyes widened with a malicious glint, making it clear she wanted revenge. Frankly, I had no interest in going back with her, especially under those conditions.

I snatched the knife from her fingers, causing her to hiss as it sliced a small cut inside her hand. Following her previous gaze, I turned to see a girl watching the stars through the window. My grip tightened on the knife, and my first thought was, "Why should I kill her and follow my aunt's orders?" But when my aunt came up behind me and whispered in my ear, "Think of her as my daughter, my daughter standing there in front of you," rage surged through me. The idea of killing the girl who took my home away seemed to calm my nerves. Seeing her back turned towards me provided the advantage of not having to look at her face, making it an easier task.

So, I walked up behind her and, with one swift motion, drove the knife deep into her lower back.

I didn't bother to cover her mouth. Instead, I grabbed her neck from the front and, pulling the knife out, stabbed her again and again, three times in rapid succession. Her shrieks grew louder with each thrust. She turned to look at me, and something twisted inside me. I pushed her away and watched as her body crumpled to the ground.

I looked at my hands, now covered in her blood, and then at her tears. That's when I felt a different presence behind me, and the next moment, soft hands gripped my collar, nearly brushing my neck and sending shivers down my spine.

I turned to see her face... and she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had ocean-blue eyes, long blonde hair, and almond-shaped eyes. Her nose was perfectly proportioned, not too small, and her plump red lips were striking. Sweat covered her face, and strands of hair clung to her forehead, making my heart race. My body shuddered at the intensity of my response to her touch, and I was shocked by how much her presence affected me.

My gaze moved to the frown on her face, snapping me back to reality. Her nails dug into my chest, and she shoved me to the ground. In an instant, she was on her knees beside the body. Was she her sister?

Several hands grabbed me from behind, dragging me away. Shouts of fear echoed throughout the orphanage, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from her body. She looked like an angel in her white nightdress, so ethereal and fragile. She seemed like she was meant for me to destroy. My aunt was still standing there, expressionless, as I was pulled past her.

It was my first kill. My last day in the orphanage. The first step into a world driven by my own desires.

The door to the room opened, and the Guvnor walked in, holding a glass of water and some medicine, his face clouded with annoyance. His eyes met mine as he slowly approached the foot of the bed. He glanced quickly at my legs, which were hooked up to wires connected to a computer. The lines on the monitor showed no movement or response, as my lower body was still numb and badly injured. Fresh bandages wrapped around my legs indicated that the doctor had likely removed both bullets from my right leg. The governor and I were both waiting for some sign of movement.

"You want entertainment?" Those were the same words that convinced me to leave jail with him. Back then, he was twenty-eight and I was only seventeen. He gave me life, money, excitement, and even a brother. Now, instead of putting a bullet in my skull, he's giving me medicine. I guess I should be grateful my parents didn't use a condom that day.