Pregnant with the Villain’s Baby

The master bedroom was vast and opulent. One of the floor-to-ceiling windows had been left ajar, letting the autumn wind lift the pale apricot curtains high into the air. Moonlight poured in, scattering across the marble floor like spilled silver. The estate was nestled in a silent part of town. If you listened closely, the only sounds were the wind’s howl outside... and the soft moans drifting from the bed. In the center of the room, the luxurious sheets were a mess, barely covering the man’s hips. His bronze skin gleamed under the moonlight, taut muscles on his back rising and falling with each breath. A low moan slipped past Mia’s lips, sweet and sticky like honey. Lost in the waves of pleasure, her fingers dug into his strong back as the night’s passion reached its c****x. The man turned slightly, gathering her into his powerful arms. Mia curled up like a sated fox in his embrace. Her eyes were half-lidded, dreamy with satisfaction. But just as she blinked them open, she found herself staring into a pair of deep, dark eyes—so cold and bottomless, they seemed to swallow her whole. Mia jolted awake. She looked around in confusion. The windows were tightly shut now. Sunlight filtered in through the same apricot curtains, flooding the room with warmth. Her heart pounded wildly as she slowly sat up. The silk strap of her white nightgown slipped off her shoulder, revealing pale, slender skin. Two faint red marks—shaped like fingernails—rested just below her collarbone. Her gaze shifted to the man lying beside her, still unconscious. Her cheeks flushed red-hot. Everything felt so real. That dream... it had been too vivid. The man’s face, the heat of his skin, the weight of his body on hers—every detail was etched into her mind. And those eyes... his eyes. Cold, sharp, and endlessly deep—like a frozen lake that could pull you under and never let go. She tugged the covers down and peeked under them. Her nightgown was still on, perfectly intact. Aside from the sticky sweat clinging to her skin, there was no sign that anything had actually happened. But still. This wasn’t the first time she’d had this dream. She wasn’t some shy teenager—Mia had always been confident, bold even—but these dreams were getting ridiculous. And worse, they were always about him—the man lying unconscious next to her. A man who had been in a coma for a full year. The moment Mia arrived in this world, she woke up to find herself in this very bed, married to him. Yep. She’d time-traveled. Or transmigrated. Whatever you wanted to call it. And not into just any world—she was inside the plot of a novel called Twisted Vows: A Marriage Mistake. In the book, Mia and her sister, Evelyn, were identical twins—same face, opposite personalities. Evelyn was the golden child: warm, outgoing, everyone’s pride. Mia? The background extra. The “other one.” 　Back then, with such an extraordinary sister, Mia’s mediocrity was magnified a thousand times over. Under that constant shadow, she grew bitter. Resentful. Angry at the world, furious at every injustice. And when her parents forced her to marry Lucien Northwood in her sister’s place… that was the first step toward her downfall. In the novel, Lucien was the villain. After suffering a deliberately staged car crash, he had fallen into a coma, stuck in a vegetative state for a year. During that time, the powerful and superstitious Northwood patriarch—Lucien’s grandfather—sought spiritual advice from a so-called “seer.” The prophecy was clear: if Lucien married the eldest daughter of the Ye family, the union would bring him fortune and potentially save his life. Mia’s father, a spineless, spoiled second-generation heir, had already squandered the entire family fortune. The Ye family company was collapsing under debt, and gambling had become his favorite hobby. When the Northwood patriarch promised to bail them out—if they offered their daughter in marriage—they didn’t hesitate. Originally, the bride-to-be was supposed to be Evelyn, Mia’s dazzling sister. But Evelyn had already fallen deeply in love with the novel’s male lead. When she found out about her parents' arrangement, she didn’t hesitate either—she ran off with the man she loved. She gave up her title as the Ye family's heiress and eloped with a penniless dreamer. And she never looked back. But the Ye family still had another daughter. The sisters looked identical—even their own parents often confused them. So how hard could it be to trick the Northwoods? Problem solved. They sent Mia in Evelyn’s place. Marrying a man in a coma? Fine. Mia could deal with that. The real problem was what came next. According to the story, Lucien would wake up one month after the wedding. And when he did, he wouldn’t just regain consciousness—he’d change completely. The once-comatose heir would return colder, sharper, crueler. Ruthless in everything he did. After Mia married into the Northwood family, she never really tried to care for Lucien. How could she? He was just a breathing statue, and she resented being dragged into this mess. And when Lucien finally woke up? He was no fool. He treated Mia like she was nothing. And when fate brought him face-to-face with Evelyn—the woman he was supposed to marry—it didn’t take him long to uncover the truth. Evelyn: charming, capable, radiant. Mia: quiet, awkward, forgettable. Lucien realized he'd been duped. The Ye family had deceived him. Mia had deceived him. And when he found out the male lead—the man Evelyn had run away with—was his own half-brother? The real villain arc began. Lucien launched a war: power, control, revenge. He’d take everything—his father’s company, his brother’s position, and yes, even his brother’s woman. And Mia? She became nothing more than a bitter stand-in. A placeholder. Lucien vented all his anger, all his hatred, on her. As the years passed, resentment twisted Mia’s heart. She clung to her identity as “Mrs. Northwood” like armor, flaunting it in Evelyn’s face. But every time she tried to assert herself, she was slapped down by reality. Eventually, she even bore Lucien a son. A child raised in a toxic home, under the shadow of vengeance and deceit. The boy grew up brilliant—but dark. Just like his father. Together, father and son formed a dangerous alliance: scheming, manipulating, always ten steps ahead. Their intelligence became a weapon, and for a while, they outsmarted the male lead at every turn. But in the end? Villains always fall. Lucien lost everything. The law came for him, and Mia—his wife, his accomplice—was dragged down with him. She spent the rest of her life rotting in a prison cell. That was the novel’s Mia. But she? She was not that Mia. Right now, Lucien Northwood was still in a coma. As long as she left the Northwood estate before he woke up, she could avoid that entire twisted future. The world was big. She had options. Freedom, possibility. Why should she stay trapped in someone else’s nightmare? And the Ye family? Not her problem. They wanted a miracle? They could go find Evelyn themselves. A knock at the door cut off her thoughts. “Good morning, Miss Ye.” The Northwood family’s butler—who had served them for decades—stood respectfully outside the bedroom door, pushing a small cart filled with medical supplies. “It’s time to clean and care for Mr. Northwood.” 　The Northwood family had a long, distinguished lineage. Along with its vast wealth came an equally massive load of outdated, rigid traditions—relics from a bygone era that refused to die. As Lucien Northwood’s legal wife, Mia had to follow one of those age-old rules: she was the only one allowed to touch her husband’s body. Which meant that every morning, she had to clean him herself. No excuses. She took the warm towel handed to her by the butler, dipped it into the steaming basin, and wrung it out. Then she lifted the blanket covering Lucien’s still form, unbuttoned his pajama top, and began carefully wiping down his chest, arms, shoulders, and abdomen. This wasn’t new. She did it every single day. And only she could do it. Before the wedding, a professional caregiver had handled these duties. But after she married in, the Northwood family made it clear: now that she was Lucien’s wife, intimate contact was her responsibility and hers alone. Mia had rolled her eyes at the time. Seriously? It's the 21st century and they’re still obsessed with this kind of archaic nonsense? But under the butler’s watchful gaze, she had no room to slack off. So, she did her job—methodically, patiently, like she was polishing a priceless sculpture. At first, she’d flushed crimson every time she touched him, her hands trembling with awkwardness. But now, after all these weeks? Her expression didn’t even flinch. She was calm. Unbothered. Credit went to the countless photos she’d browsed of Renaissance statues—Greek gods in marble, Michelangelo’s David. She’d trained her mind to treat Lucien the same way. And honestly, Lucien’s physique could give those statues a run for their money. The warm towel glided across his skin, inch by inch. His muscles, though slightly softened from the coma, still held a certain tension—especially around his arms and abdomen. Mia’s thoughts drifted—unbidden—back to that vivid dream she’d had the night before. In it, Lucien’s deep, gravelly voice had sent shivers down her spine. His fingers had locked tightly around hers, his body pulsing with strength and dominance, giving her no space to run, no choice to refuse. It had been overwhelming, electrifying… and somehow, devastatingly intimate. She shook her head slightly, trying to dismiss the lingering heat in her chest. Strange, she thought. How can a man lie in a coma for a whole year and still look like this? Shouldn’t he be emaciated? At least a little? But Lucien… his body’s been maintained almost too well. Finishing his torso, she rinsed the towel in the warm water again and gently wiped his face. His features were sharply defined—jawline, nose, brow. Perfectly symmetrical. Ridiculously handsome. Too handsome.