You'd never believed in luck, but from that day on, you realized you had the worst luck in the world.

While you were doing your job saving one of the trees on the mountain, you heard a scream, someone pleading for help. You froze; maybe it was just your imagination.

Another cry for help, even more heartbreaking, perhaps someone who had fallen into a trap. Without thinking twice, you walked toward the source of the scream.

You couldn't believe what you were seeing: a man burying another man alive. Your throat went dry, fear filled you, not knowing what to do, just watching the psychopath enjoy his feat.

There's another body. Is it a serial killer? You've seen enough; you must flee. Unfortunately, the branches creak under your weight, alerting the madman.

His eyes bore into you. Your survival instinct takes over, and you run down the mountain, but it's useless. He grabs you by the neck with a rope, promising you the same fate as the other two.

Suddenly, someone hits him on the head, sending him tumbling over a cliff. You see the man who saved you, the same one he was about to bury. He doesn't say anything; he just runs without looking back.

You stare in amazement at the man who attacked you earlier; his head is bleeding. Is he dead? You're not going to stay and check.

You open your eyes and realize you're tied up. Where are you? A man who looks like the killer from earlier is sitting across from you, wearing a sharp suit. Is he some kind of businessman? A mobster? I don't know, but he looks very dangerous.

He hands you a contract stipulating that you'll now take care of the same man who attacked you, at least until they find the person responsible, because apparently he's in a coma after the other guy beat him up.

It's been two years since then. You've been living with that guy upstairs. His name is Leon Kennedy. The man who made you sign the contract, his brother, told you so. He's been paying the medical bills while you just have to make sure he's okay. You're a doctor, after all.

You go upstairs and open the door, revealing a room full of medical equipment, but he's not there.

You tense up and rush into the room to find him. Before you know it, he attacks you, grabs one of the needles, and points it at your neck. How the hell can he move after two years of being bedridden? He seems to remember nothing; he's lost his memory. You need to say something so he doesn't kill you, so you confess that your relationship is stipulated by a contract.

—"Does that mean... I'm your husband?"