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Kim Areum was just your average 24-year-old with an average life, until she died in the most cliché way possible—Truck-kun style. But instead of peace in the afterlife, she finds herself reincarnated as Lady Alexandra, the most hated noblewoman in a romance novel she couldn’t even finish.

Worse, she wakes up in a body that's already pregnant—impregnated by a cold husband who only touched her because he mistook her for his dead first love. To top it off, she remembers just enough of the story to know that Alexandra dies during childbirth.

Armed with half-baked plot knowledge, uncontrollable mood swings, and a growing list of people who want her dead (including the original heroine), Areum is determined to rewrite her tragic ending—even if that means throwing pillows at her expressionless husband, bullying fate into submission, and, for once in her two lives, choosing herself.

Can a modern-day nobody survive the drama of nobility, sidestep death-by-birth, and raise a baby in a world that already wrote her off as the villain?

Reborn as the Pregnant Villainess (And I Was a Virgin!)

The letter remained under her pillow throughout the day.

By dinner time, Alexandra had talked herself out of thinking she'd imagined it. By nightfall, she hadn't. Not after the baby shifted again—this time in perfect sync with the tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

Her fingers shook. She tossed off the blankets, rolled out of bed, and crept into the nursery across the floor, over to the fireplace. Lora had told her not to be awake at midnight, that it was not healthy for her "delicate constitution"—a remark Alexandra was within three seconds of impaling with a fork, but she had to know.

And for a very, very long time… she just stared.

Just Alexandra, her too-big nightgown, and a severely unbrushed side braid that made her appear like a pregnant raccoon in noblewoman cosplay.

"See?" she muttered aloud. "Fine. Nothing cursed about—"

Alexandra backed away, almost overtopping the candelabra. The reflection—her reflection—grinned even wider.

She did not scream. Primarily because her throat seized up. She retreated slowly, crashing into a chair, the crib, the side table—

Cassian stood at the door, untucked shirt half-done up, brows furrowed. He looked as if he'd run from the stables.

"Are you okay? Lora said you were—" He halted. "You're shivering."

"I— I'm—" The words would not happen. Her mouth shook open.

The cravings. The letter. The warning to priests. The mirror. The baby kicking at command. The knowledge that she couldn't recall when she stopped feeling like herself.

Cassian stood there, silent and taut, as if someone working out a war map in his head.

At last he moved toward her, his eyes fixed on hers. "You should have told me."

"I think you're keeping things from me while perhaps being stalked by prophetic mirror demons," he said baldly. "That's a little more worrying than madness."

She blinked. "Is… is that your definition of comforting me?"

"No. This is." He extended a hand.

"…If you're going to say something like 'We're in this together', I might vomit on your shoes."

He sighed. "I was going to say I'll question the estate priest tomorrow. And I'll check the sealed section of the library myself."

Finally, she took his hand and muttered, "I'm still going to vomit on your shoes."

Don’t Look Too Long