I Dreamed the Perfect Blind Date Was Lying To Me Chapter 04

I Dreamed the Perfect Blind Date Was Lying To Me Chapter 04

I was drenched in sweat.

The blanket had been kicked onto the floor. My palms were clenched so tight they’d gone white.

Outside the window, it was three in the morning. Quiet.

I sat up. My heart pounded like a drum.

I reached for my phone.

The screen lit up. A text message, from Derek.

The message had come half an hour ago: [Hope you got home safe. Let me know when you’re inside.]

I stared at the line of text. My fingertips were ice cold.

That sentence from the dream echoed in my head. “You didn’t have any other prospects, right? You should be grateful.”

I took a breath.

Then I tapped his profile picture and hit delete.

The confirmation box popped up. I pressed Yes.

Then I opened Mrs. Walsh’s chat and typed: “Mrs. Walsh, forget about Derek Hamilton. It’s not going to work. Thank you.”

I hit send. Then I turned off my phone.

I rolled over and stared at the dark ceiling.

My heart was still racing.

I knew it was just a dream. But that cold feeling, that suffocation, that sense of being trapped inside four walls, it felt too real.

So real that I didn’t dare test whether it was true.

The next morning, my mom called.

“What is wrong with you? A perfectly good match, such a great catch, and you say it’s not going to work?”

I pressed my temples. I didn’t explain.

Explain what? That I had a dream about him having a son? About becoming a full-time stepmother? About another woman? About him telling me I should be grateful?

My mom would think I had lost my mind.

“Are you doing that thing again? The government worker was too boring. The lawyer was too slick. Now this officer isn’t right either. Emily, what exactly are you looking for?”

“Mom, I just don’t think we’re a good match.”

“You met him once!”

“I know.”

“You—”

My dad said something in the background. My mom stopped mid-sentence.

Then the line went dead.

I took a deep breath, got up, brushed my teeth, changed, and left for work.

On the subway, packed in like sardines, I leaned against the pole. My mind was still stuck on last night’s dream.

Leo. That boy’s name was etched into my memory.

The old coat, the red cheeks, the way he stood in the doorway tilting his head at me.

And that woman in yellow, Julie. The chocolates. The way she said, “Nice to meet you.”

I shook my head.

Something was wrong. It was too clear.

Normally I forgot dreams the second I opened my eyes. But not this one.

Every image, every sentence, every expression, all of it was stuck in my brain, refusing to leave.

I got to the office. Meetings, data reports, strategy revisions, the usual.

At two in the afternoon, my phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number.

I answered.

“Is this Ms. Foster?”

The voice was familiar. Low. Steady.

Derek.