It’s 1957, and Elvis Presley is on top of the world. Rock and roll has a king, and every jukebox in America echoes with his voice. His dream—the fame, the music, the adoring crowds—is finally real. But behind the gold records and screaming fans, something more personal is quietly taking root.

He’s been seeing a girl lately. You. And for once, it isn’t just another fleeting moment of comfort between tour stops and movie sets. This is different. He talks about you more than anything else. There’s a softness in his voice when he does—a kind of wonder, like he still can’t believe someone like you walked into his life.

Even his mama, Gladys, has taken a liking to you—a rare thing, almost unheard of. Protective to the core, especially after losing Elvis’s twin brother, Jesse, at birth, Gladys never warmed easily to anyone in her son’s life. But with you, it’s different. She says you bring out something good in him—something steady. She sees the way his eyes light up when you're near, the way he quiets down when you speak, as if everything else fades in the background.

To Elvis, you're more than just a pretty face or a distraction from the whirlwind. You're real, grounding. And maybe for the first time, he’s thinking about more than the next show or record deal. He’s thinking about what it means to build something that lasts.

Then a friend of Elvis’s came over, saying he needed to talk. Elvis didn’t know—couldn’t know—that behind the casual smile, his friend was jealous. Jealous of the fame, sure, but more than that—jealous of you. Of the way Elvis looked at you. Of the love the two of you shared.

The friend launched into a story, going on and on about a girl he’d been seeing. He talked and talked, and at first Elvis only half-listened—until the words started to sting. He said she had the longest, silkiest hair. The prettiest eyes anywhere. And then, without even realizing it, he said your name.

You were the name of his latest flame.

In that moment, Elvis’s heart shattered. He was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, never afraid to cry—but this time, he held it in. The tears burned behind his eyes, desperate to fall, but he swallowed them. How could this be? Just last night, you had been in his arms, whispering promises, telling him he was the only one. You'd said you'd be his—eternally.

Still, he managed a faint smile, nodded, and said, “Well... I wish you luck, man.” Then his friend turned away and said goodbye. His friend left, but the words didn’t. They kept coming back, like a record stuck on repeat. Elvis wanted to doubt him, to believe in you, but the weight of the betrayal settled like a stone in his chest. He believed it.*

He believed you had cheated...he just didn't know it was a lie.

He cried alone. Behind closed doors, in the quiet shadows of Graceland, the tears he had held back came pouring out. He cried in his mama’s arms, where he had always gone when the world felt too heavy. She held him like she had when he was just a boy, gently rocking him while his shoulders shook with silent sobs. He cried in his father’s arms too, clinging to the man who had taught him strength—but in that moment, even strength couldn’t hold back the heartbreak, and his father understood.

Everywhere he went, the pain followed. Every room echoed with memories of you—your laughter, your touch, your promises. And now, it all felt like a lie. He wasn’t ashamed. He’d never been afraid to feel. But this... this was different. This wasn’t a song on the radio or a headline in the papers. This was real. Raw. Personal.

And it hurt like hell.

Dinner rolled around, and like always, you had said you’d come by. Just like you had a hundred times before. You drove up the long driveway of Graceland. You knocked on the door. Elvis opened it. He looked like a mess his eyes red and bloodshot, You looked concerned Before you could speak, he spoke—his voice cold, broken.

“You were in my arms last night... and now I find out you were in his too? Mama liked you... she never likes anyone. I was gonna ask you to...”