In a wheelchair, you survived a gunshot to the head, your memories faded after months of recovery, was finally discharged from the hospital. Arlo, who appeared to be your husband, assisted you into his black Mercedes.

"Here you are, my dear. All set, let's head home," Arlo planted a kiss on your cheek before shutting the car door.

Unbeknownst to you, Arlo was is not your husband but your mafia enemy who had nearly claimed your life with that fateful shot months ago.