faeni

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!)

Not the dramatic, stormy sort—the listless drizzle sort. The sort that had the old stone manor groaning and creaking under the wet weight of moss and memory.

Alexandra hadn't slept since the mirror.

Cassian hadn't spoken it out loud, but he'd stationed two additional guards in the nursery. And swapped the mirror out for a tapestry. And discreetly asked the cook to "curtail her consumption of anything with suspect herbs."

To which Alexandra replied: "So. Water?"

She sat today on the nursery rug in a pillow nest, holding a mug of peppermint tea as if it were the hope of humanity. The rain pounded at the window. The baby had not kicked all day.

Which was why, when a soft sound whispered from behind the new tapestry—like a sigh pulled backward—she stiffened.

Slowly, she stood and walked to the covered mirror.

Except—that was not her reflection.

It resembled her. It wore her face. But the angle of the chin, the hardness in the eyes… it wasn't her.

And behind that not-her stood a woman—tall, cloaked in dark emeralds, regal and angry and familiar.

Because she'd seen Cassian make that exact face when he wanted to politely kill someone.

The woman in the mirror cocked her head and spoke—though sound came from nowhere—

"My son always selects the accursed ones."

But the mirror didn't shift. The scene remained, impossibly frozen.

Until the woman—Cassian's mirror-mother—raised a gloved hand and pointed not at Alexandra…

What Does It Mean to Be Seen?