Eighty

Ellen’s POV

When I woke up, the first sensation I felt was anger. Zeke's coldness had seeped into my dreams, tainting even my subconscious with his disdain.

What the hell is wrong with his brain?

I tossed the covers aside, had my bath, and got dressed, determined to confront him. This silent treatment had gone on long enough.

As I made my way out of the room, the smell of breakfast wafted through the air, but it did little to quell my rising frustration. I walked into the dining room, only to see Zeke standing up from the table as I approached.

"Good morning," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. He didn't respond. Instead, he turned to leave, his expression unreadable.

"Zeke, wait," I called out, reaching for his arm. He stopped but didn't look at me. "Why are you treating me like this?"

His eyes flicked to my hand on his arm, and with a swift motion, he pulled away, glaring at me. "I hate it when filth stains me," he said, his voice dripping with contempt.

I gasped, the words h