IMOGEN'S POV
I lay on the bed for hours, motionless, my mind a blank canvas. The soft creak of the door barely registered as Elijah crept in, his voice a whisper in the stillness.
"Imogen?"
I didn't answer, hoping he'd leave. His footsteps retreated, and I almost let out a sigh of relief. But something stopped me.
"If you're going to strip me of the right to be alone in my room," I said, my voice flat, "the least you could do is make the bed less bare."
There was a pause, heavy with hesitation. Then, the rustle of clothing. I didn't turn to look, but I could picture Elijah undressing, stripping down to his boxers. The mattress dipped as he slid in beside me.
We lay there, back to back, a chasm of unspoken words between us. I could feel the heat of his body, so close yet impossibly far.
"I'll fix this," Elijah murmured, his voice muffled by the pillow.
