The Villainess Has a Baby (And He’s the Father)

Almost Ready

The four thousand five hundred gold coins resting in her enchanted satchel were a powerful beginning, but Seraphina knew it wasn't enough. Building a completely new life from scratch, buying property in a remote province, bribing officials for forged identification documents, and raising a child in absolute secrecy required a small fortune. If she ran out of money while hiding, she would be completely defenseless.

She needed more. But she had to be even more careful now. If she kept visiting the same pawnshops in the lower districts, rumors of a desperate noblewoman selling off raw gems would eventually catch the attention of the thieves' guild, or worse, the palace investigators.

She had to diversify her methods.

On her way back to the manor, keeping her hood pulled tightly over her silver-blonde hair, Seraphina stopped by the capital’s central market plaza. Instead of luxury goods, she focused her attention on the bustling merchant stalls selling bulk herbs, dried roots, and rare medicinal flora imported from the southern borders.

In her past life, she had ignored these dirty stalls. But now, with her mind sharpened by the medical botany texts she had been devouring, she saw them as a goldmine.

She noticed a frantic merchant arguing with a local apothecary.

"I'm telling you, it's useless!" the apothecary yelled, waving his hand dismissively at a large crate filled with damp, purple-veined leaves. "You brought back Blood-Vine leaves, but half of them are rotting from the mountain humidity. They are completely worthless for making standard stamina potions. Get them out of my sight!"

The merchant looked ruined, his shoulders slumping as he stared at his ruined cargo. "I put all my savings into this shipment..."

Seraphina stepped forward, her plain wool cloak shielding her identity. "Excuse me," she said, her voice soft but clear.

The merchant blinked, looking at her with hollow eyes. "Yes, young lady? Are you looking for herbs? I'm afraid my stock is ruined."

Seraphina peered into the crate. To an ordinary apothecary, these leaves were dead. But her intensive reading had taught her something else: Blood-Vine leaves didn't rot; they fermented when exposed to high humidity. If treated with simple salt-peter and dried under a direct moonlight shadow, the fermenting juices transformed into a highly concentrated clotting agent... one that could stop severe internal bleeding instantly. It was a remedy the imperial military would pay a hundred times its weight in gold for, especially with the border skirmishes rising in the north.

"I will buy the entire crate from you," Seraphina said quietly. "For twenty silver coins."

The merchant’s face lit up with desperate gratitude. "Twenty silvers? Deal! Take them, please!"

Seraphina handed over the silver coins she had kept in her pocket, took the heavy crate, and secretly navigated back to the ducal manor through the servant’s entrance.

For the next week, her bedroom transformed into a secret laboratory. While Eleanor kept watch at the door to ensure neither her father nor the household staff entered, Seraphina stayed up late into the night. Her hands, once soft and pristine, became stained with the dark purple juices of the herbs. She carefully crushed the fermenting leaves, treated them with the specific minerals she had secretly ordered, and strained the liquid into small, unmarked glass vials she bought from a street vendor.

The process was exhausting. Her early pregnancy symptoms made her dizzy, and the strong, bitter scent of the herbs occasionally made her stomach churn violently. She would have to stop, lean against her desk, and breathe deeply while cradling her flat stomach.

Just a little longer, little one, she would whisper into the quiet night. Your mother is building our fortress.

When she finished, she had produced thirty vials of pure, highly concentrated clotting serum.

Using Eleanor as a proxy; disguising her loyal maid in plain clothes, Seraphina sent her to the capital’s eastern gate, where military supply contractors regularly purchased remedies for the front lines. She instructed Eleanor to sell them to a specific non-aligned military merchant named Master Boris, a man known for his greed but absolute discretion.

When Eleanor returned a few hours later, her eyes were wide with shock. She locked the bedroom door behind her and pulled out a heavy velvet pouch, dumping it onto Seraphina’s bed.

Gold coins poured out, glittering brilliantly under the chandelier.

"My Lady!" Eleanor whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. "He... he tested just one drop on a wounded hound, and the bleeding stopped instantly! He bought every single vial on the spot. He gave us two thousand gold pieces and begged for more!"

Seraphina closed her eyes, a long, shaky breath escaping her lips. A profound wave of relief washed over her chest.

Six thousand five hundred gold coins in total. Combined with the steady liquidation of her mother’s unmarked jewelry, she now possessed a fortune that rivaled some minor baronies. It was enough. It was more than enough to buy land, build a quiet life, and ensure her son would never know hunger or poverty.

She ran her fingers through the pile of cold, hard gold coins on her bed. In her past life, she had relied entirely on the wealth of the Valecrest name and the hollow promises of a royal engagement. She had been entirely dependent on the men around her, leaving her utterly helpless when they chose to destroy her.

Now, looking at the gold she had earned through her own knowledge, strategy, and labor, Seraphina felt a new sensation blooming in her chest.

Independence. Power.

She was no longer a victim waiting for a tragic script to unfold. She was the architect of her own survival.

"We are almost ready," Seraphina murmured, looking out the window as a flash of lightning illuminated the distant imperial palace.

The money was gathered. Her resources were secured. Now, the real game would begin. She had to navigate the upcoming court events without raising a single suspicion, waiting for the perfect moment to light the fire that would burn her old identity to ashes.