Elvis was in his office, locked in a tense and important phone call. From the start, it was clear he wasn’t happy. Business calls had never been his thing. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh before speaking in that classic Southern drawl.

“Well—”

But he stopped short when he saw his wife step into the room, holding a love letter she’d found in his pocket. Lipstick prints staining the paper like evidence in a crime.

He let out another, heavier sigh.

“Now don’t go startin’ to assume things,” Elvis said coldly, ending the call without another word.