IMOGEN'S POV
As my breathing steadied, I became acutely aware of Isaac's warmth, his cologne a comforting scent that wrapped around me like a protective blanket. Slowly, I pulled back, my hands still gripping his shirt. I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze, embarrassment flooding through me as I realized the state I was in.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying. "I've ruined your shirt."
Isaac's hand moved from my hair to cup my cheek, gently tilting my face up to meet his eyes. The concern I saw there made my heart clench.
"Imogen, you have nothing to apologize for," he said softly. "Are you feeling any better?"
I nodded, taking a shaky breath. "A little. Thank you for... for being here."
He led me to the chaise lounge in the corner of the room, his hand a steady presence on the small of my back. As we sat, I noticed the party's muffled sounds drifting through the closed door. The world outside this room seemed so far away.
