The Alchemist of Broken Dreams by Sienna Rose Blackwell 17

Chapter 17 

DYLAN 

a 

94 

The clean scent of soap and the faint trace of a man’s aftershave stirred me from my sleep. I feel like I’m still in dreamland, and I don’t want to wake up yet. 

I turned my head and buried my face into the pillow. That’s when I noticed how soft it was, like resting on clouds. Nothing like the lumpy, dusty pillow I used to have in my parents‘ old apartment. This one felt expensive, clean, and fresh. Almost too good to be real. 

That’s when it hit me. I must be dreaming. 

This kind of comfort doesn’t happen in my world anymore. The last time I remember sleeping on something this soft was when I was still married to Beckett, before everything fell apart. It was strange how something as simple as a pillow could stir up old memories. 

But there was something else, a scent I didn’t recognize that was hidden in the sheets. A rich, masculine fragrance that smelled expensive and elegant, yet somehow wild and mysterious. It wrapped around me like a secret. The scent felt familiar, yet at the same time, a mystery. 

My eyes fluttered as I opened it. I jolted in panic when I was greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling. Memories of what happened last night flash right before my eyes. Chills run down my spine when I remember how those disgusting men looked at me. 

But then… I remembered him. 

The man from the elevator. 

I can still remember how his presence silenced even the loudest threats. The fear in those thugs‘ eyes when he appeared–it was like they’d seen a ghost. 

Who the hell is this man? How did he know where I live? 

I thought the surprise ended when I woke up in a stranger’s bed. But my eyes almost bulge out when I notice I am wearing nothing but a white long–sleeved shirt. 

Where is my underwear? I screamed at my head. 

I glanced around the room now, slowly taking in the details. He probably brought me here when I lost consciousness last night. But why does he need to take off my clothes? 

D–Did we sleep together? 

I immediately wrapped my arms around my body in my faint attempt to protect myself. 

His place felt like a secret–quiet and hidden. It was a bachelor pad, sure, but not the messy, party kind. This one was dark, calm, and strong… just like him. 

The walls were painted in dark colors–deep gray and navy blue–that made the space feel cozy, almost like a cave. Big windows lined one wall, but thick curtains covered them halfway, letting in just enough light to cast 

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Chapter 17 

shadows on the smooth floor. The furniture was modern and clean, but it didn’t feel cold. A low leather couch sat in the center, dark brown like coffee, facing a glass coffee table. On it sat one fancy glass and an unopened 

bottle of scotch 

The air smelled warm and manly–sandalwood with something deeper underneath. It filled the room like a quiet warning. There were no family pictures or anything personal, just a few black–and–white artworks on 

the wall. 

Still, something about the room pulled me in. The shadows felt like they were keeping me safe or maybe hiding something I wasn’t sure. 

My heart was racing, but not because I was scared. It was something else. Something I didn’t understand. 

Then I heard a door open. I turned quickly toward the sound. 

And there he was. 

He stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a white towel around his waist. Water still clung to his skin. sliding slowly down his toned abs as he dried his hair. 

I forgot how to breathe. My throat went dry, and my eyes couldn’t look away. 

“Done ogling me?” he asked, but when I saw the devilish smirk playing on his lips, I knew he was teasing me. 

“W–Who are you? What have you done to me?” 

“I have done nothing to you. Dylan,” he said, mentioning my name. I was surprised when I realized that he knows who I am. But what surprised me more is what he said