The Alchemist of Broken Dreams by Sienna Rose Blackwell 61
Chapter 61
DYLAN
My chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. My hair clung to my damp forehead, sheets twisted desperately around my legs like I’d been fighting ghosts in my sleep. I pressed a trembling hand over my racing heart as I tried to steady myself, forcing air into my lungs.
The dim light from the lamp outside bled through the curtains, painting soft shadows across the familiar walls of my bedroom. The same cream curtains. The same tiny desk. The same framed photos of “us” smiling like a perfect couple.
I was still here. I hadn’t gone anywhere. It was just a dream.
But if it was only a dream, then why did my lips feel tender, why did my skin still burn with the memory of his touch? Why did my body ache as if I had lived every second of it?
And that voice…
My “little bunny.”
It echoed inside my head, deep and aching, as if it belonged to someone who had once whispered it to me a thousand times before. Someone who knew me. Claimed me. Loved me with a desperate, consuming certainty.
Someone who wasn’t my husband.
A wave of guilt slammed into my chest, sharp and suffocating. I pressed both hands against my face and groaned softly.
What is wrong with me?
Why would I dream of another man like that? Why would my heart react like it recognized him when I don’t even know who he is?
Or do I?
I swallowed hard, a shiver skimming down my spine.
It didn’t feel like a fantasy my mind made up. It felt like a memory clawing its way back like something I had buried deep, trying so hard to forget, now fighting to be remembered.
But that’s impossible, isn’t it?
I drew my knees to my chest and hugged them tightly, trying to ground myself. Yet no matter how much I told myself it wasn’t real, the warmth of his voice lingered, the way he said he died the day I left, the sorrow in it.
My chest tightened painfully.
I didn’t manage to fall back to sleep.
No matter how many times I shifted on the bed or squeezed my eyes shut, my mind kept dragging me back to that dream- those hands, that voice, that unbearable pull that made my body heat up just remembering it. I turned to my side, then to my back, then to my stomach, but it didn’t matter. My nerves were still on fire.
With a frustrated sigh, I stared up at the ceiling, watching the faint glow of dawn slowly sneak through the curtains. My pulse was still uneasy, my skin still too sensitive. I felt like I’d been dropped into someone else’s life for a moment.
Someone he had lost.
I rubbed my arms, trying to chase away the cold crawling over my skin. Was it really just a dream? Or was it something my
1/4
Chapter 61
mind was trying to remember?
I swallowed hard as a terrible thought crossed me.
What if the dream wasn’t just a dream?
What if it was a piece of my past?
20 vouchers
I pushed the blankets away and sat up, running a shaky hand through my hair. My room felt smaller than usual, suffocating almost, like the walls were closing in around me with all the questions I couldn’t answer.
I glanced at the door.
My husband was somewhere outside–sleeping, maybe… or awake, pretending everything was normal. I wasn’t sure
anymore.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. About the man in my dream. About the truth that seemed to be hiding in every shadow of this house.
I hugged myself tighter.
I didn’t fall asleep again. I just waited for the morning sun to fully rise, hoping it might bring clarity.
I stepped out of my room with slow, careful steps, almost afraid the floorboards would echo the confusion twisting inside me. The hallway was still dim, touched only by the early morning light slipping through the curtains.
When I reached the end of the corridor, I saw him.
He stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming softly under his breath as he plated scrambled eggs and toasted bread. The familiar clinking of utensils should’ve soothed me the way it usually did, but today it only made my stomach tighten.
He looked so normal. So domestic. As if last night’s phone call–the one he tried to lie about–never happened.
He sensed my presence and turned around with a warm smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Good morning, sweetheart. You’re up early.”
I forced myself to move closer, though every step felt heavy. “I… I couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh?” His brows relaxed in a way that felt too deliberate. “Nightmares again?”
Nightmares.
If only that’s all it was.
“Something like that,” I murmured, hugging my arms to my chest.
He wiped his hands with a towel and walked over to me, leaning down to press a kiss on my forehead. I tried not to flinch, but my body reacted before my mind could stop it. His lips felt warm, but the comfort they used to bring me wasn’t there
anymore.
“Sit down,” he said softly, guiding me toward the small table. “I made
your
favorite.”
I sat because it was easier than resisting… or questioning him again. The aroma of breakfast filled the room, but I didn’t feel hungry. If anything, the tight knot in my chest made me feel sick
He set a plate in front of me. “You need to eat. You look pale.”
I gave him a small nod, though my hands trembled when I picked up the fork. I tried to smile, tried to act like nothing was
2/4
Chapter 61
20 vouchers
wrong–but every time I looked at him, I couldn’t help but feel guilty while thinking about the man in my dreams.
My stomach twisted.
I pushed the food around my plate without taking a single bite.
He watched me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “Sweetheart, is something bothering you?”
Yes.
Everything.
But I swallowed the truth down and forced myself to meet his eyes.
“I’m just tired,” I lied softly.
He reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb rubbing slow circles over my skin.
But for the first time since waking up in this house two years ago. his touch didn’t feel reassuring.
It felt like a warning.
“After breakfast, you should take a rest. Forget about the shop today. You need it more. And don’t forget to drink your medicine.” He cleared his throat softly, as if he’d been waiting for the right moment. He squeezed my hand one last time before letting go.
“I need to tell you something,” he said gently. “I’ll be gone for a few days.”
I blinked. “Gone? Where are you going?”
“Out of state,” he replied, “There’s something I need to take care of. Important.”
I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. He just stood there, watching me with a calm I didn’t trust, as though waiting for me to push–waiting for me to dig where he didn’t want me to.
But after everything I overheard last night, I didn’t have the strength to start a war at the breakfast table.
So I simply nodded. “Okay.”
He raised an eyebrow, almost surprised I didn’t press. “You’re not going to ask what it’s about?”
“No,” I said quietly, tracing a fingertip along the rim of my plate. If you say you need to go, then go. Then it must be something really important.”
His shoulders eased, but his gaze lingered on me too long–as if he was trying to read every flicker of my expression, every twitch in my fingers.
“I’ll only be gone three or four days,” he continued. “I’ll leave you the car. And I stocked the fridge last night, so you be fine.”
“Okay,” I repeated, keeping my voice steady even though my heart was thudding like a trapped bird. “When are you leaving?”
He glanced at the clock. “Now,”
My heart skipped.
should
He walked past me toward the hallway, movements calm, efficient–like he’d already planned this, like he’d been waiting for morning just so he could disappear. He grabbed his jacket, keys, and that one duffel bag he never let me touch.
I didn’t ask where he was going.
I didn’t ask why.
A part of me didn’t want to know… and another part whispered this might be the breath of air I desperately needed.
He paused by the door, turning to look at me. That soft smile again. The gentle husband. The perfect man.
“Lock the doors. Don’t skip meals. And take your medicine, okay” His voice was warm, almost tender. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
I nodded, unable to say anything. My throat felt tight, clogged with words I wasn’t brave enough to let out.
He opened the door.
And something inside me panicked.
“Beckett,” I blurted out before he could step outside.
He stilled.
Slowly, he turned back to me. His eyes softened instantly, as if my voice alone was enough to anchor him. “Yeah?”
“Take care,” I said.
He smiled before closing the door behind him.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
Join Our WhatsApp Channel For Fast Update Or More Novels: 
Join Our WhatsApp Channel For Fast Update Or More Novels: