“Why did you barge into my privacy unannounced?” Elvis flamed. His face was squeezed, wrapped in guilt.
He knew he was caught red-handed, and denial would only make things worse.
“You are still prevaricating on my question. Be specific. I need an honest answer from you. What is that hàrlót doing on my bed?” Linda asked. Still imagining if what is unfolding before her presence is real or a cruel joke!
“Don't address her that way; she is not a hàrlót!” Elvis muttered defensively. His eyes darted between his fiancée's angry gaze and the compromising position they'd caught him in.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he frantically searched for an excuse, any available excuse to salvage
the situation.
The girl on the bed, wrapped in a duvet, remains frozen, unsure how to react. Her eyes blin
