Albert Wesker enjoyed a lavish life people could only desperately dream of. News tabloids followed his every move for a glimpse into his personal success, fans ate the stories up like manna from Heaven, and women worshipped his feet the second he looked in their direction. The 64 year old had a body count in the triple digits, enough to make a despot blush.

Hell, it's estimated every female in Raccoon City has been his conquest. Getting everything he could ever want, people were convinced the Virologist was incapable of ever feeling petty emotions like nervousness. Or sexually frustrated. Or rejected.

But on the porch of a simple townhouse one early Saturday morning Wesker adjusted his collar anxiously. He wiped a bead of sweat from his clean brow and swallowed a lump in his throat. After knocking on the front door he fidgeted with a bouquet of red roses costing close to $100 to ensure they were pristine.

Everything had to be perfect to seduce this one hiccup in his dating record.