A group of people rushes toward the helicopter's ladder, but strong bodyguards block their way and push them aside. Another wave washes over the side of the ship, and people scream in panic. The crew starts to lower the second lifeboat into the water, and a few passengers jump off the sides of the ship into the overcrowded boat.

Avery knows she needs to find Andrew, but she can't tear her eyes away from the helicopter. She watches as Evan climbs the ladder and pulls himself into the cabin. For a moment, he stands in the open doorway, staring down at the deck below. Then a hand lands on his shoulder and pulls him inside. The doors close, and the helicopter rises higher into the sky.

Avery's chest aches as she watches the helicopter turn into a speck in the sky. Another wave crashes, and cold water splashes her legs. She snaps back to attention and looks around the deck. Most of the passengers have gotten onto lifeboats, but there are still a few waiting to leave the ship. She checks her cellphone, hoping that the speedboat she called for Gabrielle's rescue is on the way.

She hops off the bar and runs toward the stairs. She knows it's dangerous to go back to the cabins, but she has to find Andrew as she descends the stairs, the boat rocks and the water laps at her ankles and then her knees. In the hallway, the murky water is already thigh deep. The lights flicker dangerously, and bits of clothing and furniture float past.

"Honey, is that you?" Andrew's voice shouts.

The lights flicker and go out, and Avery stops moving. The water is freezing cold, and now the hallway is pitch black. She looks around, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark, but she can't see anything.

"Honey, stay where you are, I'm coming to you," Andrew shouts.

The water sloshes, and then the lights flicker back on. Andrew pushes his way through the water, his breathing ragged and short. He reaches her and wraps his arm around her protectively, pulling her back toward the stairs.

"Wow, did you dress like that for me?" he asks, panting for breath between every word.

"We have to get onto the deck," she says. "You look terrible."

He smiles and winks, and they walk back to the stairs and climb up onto the deck. In the bright sunlight, she can see that he looks even worse than she realized. His face is pale, and his lips are blue, and the wounds on his back have started to bleed again. The back of his white shirt is stained red.

"The lifeboat is ready," shouts a guard.

Together, Avery and Andrew stagger toward the boat. She climbs in, but Andrew needs help from his guards. They push him into the boat and begin to lower it to the water. Then they both jump in and fire up the boat's small motor.

Andrew reaches under the bench and pulls out an orange life jacket. Moving slowly, as if every motion hurts, he puts the lifejacket over her head and tightens the straps. Then he pulls the wig off and tosses it onto the ground.

"You look like a Barbie doll in that wig," he says with a weak laugh.

She rolls her eyes. Even when he's in danger, he makes stupid jokes, she thinks. But he risked his life again to save me. He knew it was dangerous to go back to the cabins, but he went to look for me. And he even recognized me in the French maid costume with the blonde wig.

Her heart hammers in her chest when she thinks about it. Evan got onto the helicopter without any hesitation, but Andrew stayed on the ship looking for her. What does it mean? She wonders. I've always believed that true love is selfless—a person will risk their lives to save their beloved no matter the cost. In life or death moments, they won't even think, and they'll just act. So what does it mean that Evan hesitated?

Her eyes burn, and she's not sure if it's the saltwater or tears. Her entire body aches, and she feels as if she's been punched in the stomach. She looks up at the sky—the black helicopter is just a speck on the horizon. She looks down and sees that Andrew is watching her.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, with a wry smile. "Have you decided I'm your knight in shining armor?"

A bodyguard is helping him undress, trying to get the soaked clothes away from the wounds on his back. Soon Andrew is shirtless, but he wraps a towel around himself, hiding the bloody cuts from sight. Avery looks back at the ship and sees a few panicked servants jumping into the sea.

"Wait," she says. "Let them get onto the boat."

"You're so kind to others," Andrew says with a sigh. "Why are you so cruel to me?"

The bodyguards pull the servants out of the water and turn the motor on. As the boat drifts away from the sinking ship, Avery shivers. Andrew snaps his fingers, and a guard wraps a thick blanket around her, but she's more than cold.

By the time the search and rescue boat arrives, it's dark. Her teeth chatter, and the servants huddle together for warmth. The lights of the search and rescue boat look warm and promising, and she almost cries with relief when strong arms pull her out of the lifeboat and onto the deck.

They drink hot tea and coffee, and she falls into a deep sleep. When she wakes, she's in her bed in Andrew's villa, and bright sunlight is streaming in through the window. Her body feels stiff and numb, and it takes her several minutes to sit up and throw off the covers. Her legs wobble beneath her as she crosses the room and takes her cellphone out of her purse.

She checks the date and time and freezes—she's been sleeping for two days. She opens the door, and a flurry of noise and activity greets her. Servants rush in every direction carrying piles of tulle and all sorts of white skirts and dresses.

"Oh Miss Peters, you're awake," a small servant girl shouts. "You can finally choose your dress."

"What?" Avery asks.

"Mr. Clifford invited a famous French designer to come here and work on a dress," the girl explains. "He wants you to choose your favorite, and then we'll do a photo shoot."

Avery blinks sleepily and shakes her head. She walks to the stairs, trying to ignore the servants milling around her. She clutches the railing and slowly makes her way down. She throws herself down onto the living room sofa and reads through her emails.

One email from Sophie catches her eyes. Though she's officially taking a break from her job as a jewelry designer at DO Corporation, Sophie has asked her to design a pair of men's cufflinks. Avery grabs a sketch pad and a pen and places the drawing board on her thighs.

She starts to sketch, but the first drawing is unusable. Her handshakes and the lines come out wobbly and strange. She rips the paper off the pad, takes a deep breath, and tries again. As she works, she begins to wonder why Sophie has asked her to do this. I'm the least experienced designer she has, and I'm technically taking a break, she thinks. Why does she want me to do this?

She stops drawing and sends an email to Sophie. Sophie responds within seconds: "The client saw some sketches you made and insisted that you design the cufflinks. If you're not up to it, let me know, but I'd hate to disappoint the client."

She shrugs and starts to draw again. The work is a nice distraction, and it feels calming to draw. But the peace doesn't last long; the servants rushed into the living room, carrying all the dresses.

"Please, Miss, choose a dress," one of the servants begs. "It's really important to Mr. Clifford."

The servants buzz around like flies, and she realizes she'll never have peace. She puts the drawing board aside and nods at the servants.

"Okay, let me see them," she says.

Each dress is different, but they all look straight out of a fairytale. Some have fluffy skirts, others are slinky and silky, and there's one jaw-dropping, sexy backless dress. She sighs and shakes her head. The dresses are fine, but she doesn't want to choose one. She doesn't even want to get married.

"Mr. Clifford, she won't choose any," a voice calls.

The servants part and Andrew walks into the room, wearing a crisp gray suit. He looks healthy and strong, and Avery wonders what happened to the wounds on his back. He sits next to her, letting a warm hand rest casually on her shoulder.

"Honey, aren't you satisfied with the dresses?" he asks. "If you don't like them, that's fine. We'll design something new—after all, we still have a few weeks."

Avery shrugs his hand off her shoulder, and he grabs the sketch pad from the coffee table. He flips through the sketches, and his forehead wrinkles.

"Do you want to design the dress yourself?" he asks. "You're quite good."

"No, I don't," she says. "I don't have the time—I'm busy with something else."

"Surely some cufflinks aren't as important as your wedding dress," he says.

"I'm not interested in designing a dress," she says. "Give those papers back to me."

Andrew smirks and says, "Not until you choose a dress."

"You can choose one for me," she snaps, grabbing the sketchpad out of his hands.

"No, I wanted you to choose the one you like best," he insists.

That's ironic, she thinks. I can't even choose the person I like best.

She looks at the sea of dresses and sighs, "Fine, I'll choose, but I have some conditions."