Wait for the Morrow

In my last life, the Hamiltons came to the orphanage to choose an adopted daughter.

I saw a girl caked in filth and grime and, feeling sorry for her, gave her my only buttery biscuit.

She devoured it like a starved animal, smearing crumbs and grease all over her face. The Hamiltons, a couple obsessed with cleanliness, wrinkled their noses in disgust and chose me instead, the clean one.

Years later, when the true heiress was discovered, it was her. She tearfully accused me of intentionally setting her up to steal her place.

But we were all just victims of circumstance, shed sobbed to our parents, I dont blame you.

Wanting a better life isnt a crime

Her words were gasoline on a fire. My adoptive father, Mr. Hamilton, immediately cut off my supply of targeted cancer medication, leaving me to die in agony.

Now, Ive been reborn, right back in that orphanage.

This time, I ate the biscuit myself.

Let the true heiress starve.

Let the Hamiltons think Im disgusting.

1.

The rich, warm scent of a buttery, golden-brown biscuit drifted into my nostrils, the heat of it turning my palms red.

The clamor of the yard snapped me back to reality.

The headmistresss shrill voice echoed across the courtyard.

Line up, all of you! Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton will be here any minute. If any of you dare to embarrass me, you can forget about dinner!

Sarahs eyes were glued to the biscuit in my hand, a raw, naked greed hidden behind her timid facade. She whispered, her voice frail, Annie Im so hungry

Hungry? Good.

This time, Ill let you have your hunger. And Ill have my freedom.

I didnt hand her the biscuit like I did before.

Instead, I looked right at her, opened my mouth, and took a huge, savage bite.

The flaky layers shattered, sending a shower of crumbs down my front.

I chewed with exaggerated gusto, my cheeks puffed out, deliberately letting a mix of saliva and food dribble from the corner of my mouth.

Then, I raised a dusty hand, smeared the mess across my lips, and wiped my greasy fingers all over the front of my relatively clean tunic.

Sarah was stunned.

She had probably never seen me act so crudely.

Just then, a black luxury sedan, a vehicle utterly out of place in this decade of decay, rolled through the orphanage gates.

2.

The car door opened and the Hamiltons stepped out.

Mrs. Hamilton wore a custom-tailored cashmere coat, a string of pearls at her neck glowing with a soft luster in the pale sun.

Mr. Hamilton was in an impeccably tailored suit, his brow furrowed as if the very air here offended him.

The headmistress scurried over, her face a mask of forced smiles.

Mr. Hamilton, Mrs. Hamilton, the children are all ready for you.

I stood in the front row.

A position impossible to miss.

Mrs. Hamiltons gaze swept over the line of children and landed squarely on me first.

There I was, mouth still full of biscuit, the other half clutched in my left hand.

My right hand, in full view of everyone, was shoved deep inside my shoe, scratching my toes with wild abandon.

I closed my eyes and let out a grotesque sigh of satisfaction, then brought my fingers to my nose and took a long, deep sniff.

3.

Mrs. Hamiltons elegant smile froze on her face, then melted into a look of undisguised revulsion.

She took a step back, pressing a perfumed handkerchief to her nose and mouth, her brow tightly knitted.

Headmistress, Mr. Hamiltons voice was as cold and hard as steel, is this what you call well-behaved?

The headmistress turned pale with fright. She rushed at me, trying to snatch the biscuit from my hand, hissing under her breath, What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?

I dodged her with a goofy grin and shoved the rest of the biscuit into my mouth. I gagged and choked, my eyes rolling back in my head as I forced it down my throat with a coarse, gulping sound, like a feral dog protecting its scraps.

Is there something wrong with this childs head?

Mrs. Hamilton turned away, disgusted, her eyes falling on Sarah, who was standing next to me.

Sarah, deprived of the biscuit, was pale with hunger, her small frame swaying slightly.

She was naturally a pretty child, and next to my deliberate filth, she looked exceptionally clean and fragile, like a small white flower struggling to survive in the mud.

That child, Mrs. Hamilton pointed at Sarah. She looks so sweet.

Sarah immediately straightened her back. Though she was trembling from hunger, she managed to produce a shy, polite smile.

Hello, sir. Hello, maam.

What a well-mannered little girl.

A wave of maternal affection washed over Mrs. Hamilton. She walked over and knelt, ignoring the worn patches on Sarahs clothes, and gently took her hand. Would you like to come home with us?

A brilliant light of pure joy erupted in Sarahs eyes. She nodded her head vigorously.

4.

And just like that, it was settled.

While the Hamiltons handled the paperwork, Sarah was taken away to be changed into a new set of clothes.

Before she left, she made a point to walk over to me. The courtyard was empty now, except for the two of us.

She was wearing a brand-new pink dress and clutching an expensive porcelain doll.

The timid, fearful girl was gone.

She looked at me, my face still smeared with grease as I picked my teeth, and a malicious smirk twisted her lips.

She didnt make a sound, but her lips formed the word perfectly: Idiot.

Then she turned, climbed into the luxury car like a proud princess, and left this place of poverty without a backward glance.

The cars exhaust coughed a cloud of fumes in my face.

I watched it disappear down the road before slowly pulling a crumpled tissue from my pocket. Methodically, I wiped away the grease and drool.

Idiot?

I let out a low chuckle.

The Hamiltons were rich, true, but their home was a gilded cage, a nest of vipers that devoured souls.

Mr. Hamilton had countless illegitimate children, and Mrs. Hamilton was a neurotic control freak. In my last life, Sarah, despite her lavish lifestyle, was treated as nothing more than a pawn for a strategic marriage and an emotional punching bag. She eventually became so twisted that she embezzled a fortune and fled the country.

All that good fortune? You can have it.

I turned and walked toward the woods behind the orphanage.

The other children, seeing that I had fumbled my chance to be adopted by a wealthy family, were already mocking me.

That idiot only knows how to eat!

Serves her right. Shell be stuck here forever.

Their taunts buzzed around me like flies, but I paid them no mind.

My destination was the woods.

5.

An eccentric old man lived back there, whom everyone just called Old Man Blackwood.

He was notoriously grumpy, his clothes were always covered in patches, and he spent his days clearing land to grow carrots.

The headmistress considered him a nuisance, but he paid a hefty sum for room and board each month, so she left him alone.

No one knew that this seemingly destitute old farmer was actually the recently retired head of a top-tier financial empire, the patriarch of the Blackwood family.

He was here to rest and, more importantly, to find an heir.

An heir who wasnt greedy, who had a resilient spirit, and who wasnt afraid of hard work.

When I reached his plot of land, Old Man Blackwood was struggling to hoist a bag of fertilizer, his back bent like a bow.

Without a word, I walked up and took the bag from him.

It was heavy.

Incredibly heavy.

The fifty-pound weight pressed down on my skinny shoulders, my bones groaning in protest.

But I didnt make a sound. I gritted my teeth, walked steadily to the edge of the tilled earth, and gently set it down.

Old Man Blackwood straightened up, his cloudy eyes fixed on me.

Girl, why aren't you out there kissing up to the rich folks? You come here to do manual labor instead?

I dusted off my hands, picked up a nearby hoe, and began to turn the soil with practiced ease.

I dont like those people, I said without looking up, my voice flat. Theres something shifty in their eyes.

Old Man Blackwood stared for a moment, then burst into a booming laugh, so loud it shook the leaves on the trees.

Well said! Shifty in their eyes, indeed!

6.

In the days that followed, I became the orphanage outcast.

While the other kids played, I helped Old Man Blackwood till his fields.

While they fought over scraps of candy, I helped him patch his leaky roof.

While they called me an idiot, I sat on the edge of the field, listening to him explain cryptic business principles that were far beyond my years.

Three months later.

A sleek black sedan pulled up to the orphanage gates.

The headmistress nearly fainted, thinking it was a government audit.

But instead, several men in dark suits stepped out of the car. They approached the old man who was busy pulling carrots from the ground and bowed respectfully.

Sir, its time to go home.

Old Man Blackwood wiped the dirt from his hands and pointed at me. Get the paperwork done. Shes coming with me.

The headmistresss jaw nearly hit the floor.

Before we got in the car, he asked me, Girl, coming with me might be even harder than farming. Are you scared?

I looked him straight in the eye, my gaze clear.

As long as I dont have to suck up to anyone, Im not scared of anything.

He patted my head, a look of satisfaction on his face.

From that day on, the dirty, foolish girl from the orphanage vanished. In her place was Iris Blackwood, the meticulously groomed heir to the Blackwood fortune.

7.

Years later.

St. Augustines Preparatory Academy, the first day of school.

This was an institution accessible only to the children of the absolute elite.

I was admitted as a full scholarship student, a bona fide prodigy. In the eyes of the trust-fund kids who arrived in sports cars dripping with designer labels, I was a complete anomaly.

Dressed in a simple white t-shirt, jeans, and carrying a canvas tote bag, I sat quietly in a corner of the classroom, reading an introduction to microeconomics.

Hey, did you hear? Theres a charity case in our class. Got in by being a total bookworm.

For real? Do people still wear clothes that cost like, twenty bucks?

Ugh, the smell of poverty. Stay away from her.

The whispers buzzed around me.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the classroom door.

Its Sarah! Sarah Hamilton!

Wow, is that dress couture?

I looked up.

Sarah walked in, surrounded by a gaggle of fawning girls.

Her makeup was flawless, her every gesture exuded an air of superiority as she basked in their adoration.

Her eyes swept carelessly across the room, finally landing on me in the corner.

For a split second, her pupils contracted violently.

She recognized me.

My skin was clearer now, my demeanor calm and composed, but the basic structure of my face was still there, a shadow of the girl from the orphanage.

Her first reaction was shock, quickly replaced by a flicker of contempt and malice in her eyes.

She probably still saw me as the pathetic idiot whod made a spectacle of herself for a single biscuit. Even if Id managed to test into this school, in her mind, I was nothing but a bottom-feeder who could never truly climb out of the gutter.

8.

During the break, the class group chat exploded.

My phone buzzed incessantly.

I opened it to see a message from an anonymous account:

[BIG GOSSIP! That scholarship prodigy, Iris Blackwood, is actually trash from an orphanage!]

The message was followed by a series of photos. They were blurry, but the background was unmistakably the dilapidated orphanage. The girl in the pictures, covered in dirt and working in the fields, was me.

[She was so disgusting and filthy back then that even the rich couple who came to adopt refused to take her. She ended up having to beg for food by working for some crazy old man in the woods.]

[How did someone like that get into our school? Its sickening.]

[I heard she might have contagious diseases. Everyone be careful.]

The atmosphere in the classroom shifted.

The previous indifference sharpened into open disgust and ostracism.

The students around me physically dragged their desks away from mine as if I were carrying the plague.

Oh my god, so she was an unwanted reject.

No wonder her clothes are so cheap. She grew up begging.

Gross. I think I smelled something weird when I walked past her.

Sarah sat in the center of the room, elegantly sipping a latte. She watched me being isolated, the same triumphant smile from years ago playing on her lips.

She stood up, pretending to be surprised by the messages on her phone, and then said in a loud, sympathetic voice, Oh, everyone, you shouldnt say that about Iris. I mean yes, my parents did pass on her because of her hygiene issues back then, but she got in here on her own merit. As long as she showers regularly, Im sure itll be fine?

Her words, feigning a defense, were the final nail in the coffin, confirming every rumor.

The class erupted in laughter.

Sarah, youre just too kind!

Does gutter trash like that even deserve to be in the same room as us?

The vicious comments washed over me in a tide.

I sat in the eye of the storm and calmly closed my book.

Looking at Sarahs sanctimonious face, I felt no anger, no need to defend myself.

I just found it amusing.

Sarah, after all these years, have your methods really not improved at all?

9.

In the following days, the rumors didn't die down, and Sarah didn't let up. In fact, she escalated things.

To solidify her persona as the "Hamilton Heiress" among the socialite circles, she announced she would be hosting a lavish 18th birthday gala at the city's top five-star hotel, inviting the entire school.

She made a special trip to my desk, tossing a gold-embossed invitation onto it. Her eyes glinted with a calculating light.

Iris, I know you come from nothing, but we are classmates. You should come and see how the other half lives. It might be your only chance before you end up washing dishes in a back kitchen for the rest of your life.

I picked up the invitation, running my thumb over its sharp edge, and offered a faint smile. Of course.

If youre going to stick your neck out like that, it would be rude of me not to chop it off. Its what Mr. Blackwood would have wanted.

10.

On the night of the party, Sarah was a vision in a priceless couture gown.

Around her neck was the "Azure Star," a blue diamond necklace rumored to be a limited edition, one of only three in the world. She moved through the crowd like a proud peacock.

I, in a simple black cocktail dress, kept to a quiet corner.

Just as the party reached its zenith and the lights dimmed for the cake-cutting ceremony, a shrill scream pierced the air.

My necklace! My Azure Star is gone!

Sarah clutched at her bare neck, her face a mask of panic.

The room fell silent. All eyes were on her.

Her own eyes, welling with tears, darted through the crowd before locking onto me. She pointed a trembling finger.

It was you! You were the only one who came near me! Iris, I know youre jealous of me, and I know you need money, but how could you steal something?

A wave of murmurs rippled through the guests. Their gazes turned on me, filled with contempt.

What do you expect from an orphan? No breeding.

They never should have let someone like her in.

Facing a sea of accusing faces, I felt no panic. I calmly set down my glass of juice and walked forward, meeting their stares head-on.

You say I stole it, my voice was cool and clear, not loud, but carrying enough to be heard by everyone nearby. Wheres your proof?

I went to the powder room to touch up my makeup, and you were the only one who followed me in! Sarah insisted, tears streaming down her face on command.

That was a birthday gift from my father! Please, just give it back. I wont call the police, I promise, just give it back.

A masterful performance, playing the victim.

Mrs. Hamilton stormed over, her finger jabbing at my face.

Check her bag! Search her! A gutter rat is always a gutter rat! You can't teach them not to steal!

11.

A few security guards started to close in.

I let out a cold laugh and simply upended my small clutch purse. Its contents clattered onto a nearby table.

A phone, a lipstick, a pack of tissues. Nothing more.

Then, I smoothly slipped off my blazer, shook it out for all to see, and gestured to my form-fitting dress, which clearly couldn't conceal a pebble, let alone a necklace.

See anything? I stared directly at Sarah, my gaze sharp. Its not on me.

Sarahs face paled for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered. You must have hidden it somewhere or passed it off to someone!

Really? I took a step closer, a mocking smile playing on my lips.

You know, Sarah, a thief is usually nervous. They tend to subconsciously hide their loot in the place they feel is safest. A place like the hidden inner pocket of your clutch, perhaps?

Sarah instinctively clutched her purse tighter. What are you talking about!