Avery spreads her fingers and holds her palm up to the woman. The skin is pale and clean—there's not a single trace of makeup on her fingers. The woman snatches Avery's hand and holds it closer to her eyes, curling her lip with disgust—as if her hand is too filthy to touch.

"I don't believe you for a second," the woman says. "You're just scared because you know you can't pay for the repairs. Well, let me tell you, no one comes into my shop and ruins my dresses without paying. I'll call the police, and I swear I will."

Avery closes her eyes and presses her fingers against her temples. The woman is in a frenzy about her dress, but Avery has dealt with women like her before. She's wondering how to mention Andrew's name best when a flurry of whispering distracts her.

She opens her eyes and looks around the room. The salesgirls and stylists are all wearing the same horrified expression—their mouths hang open, and their eyes are wide. A stylish rushes over and whispers something in the owner's ear. The owner's blotchy face goes, and a vein throbs in her temple. She turns to Avery and raises a shaky, accusing finger.

"Now you've done it," she says. "The real owner of the dress just called to say he's on his way. You're going to have to take this up with him."

Him? Avery thinks. How strange! What sort of man chooses the dress for his bride? She turns toward the glass door at the front of the shop, but she can't see anything over the heads of the salesgirls and stylists crowding around the entrance.

The shop owner pushes her way through her employees as the bell above the door tinkles. The whispering employees fall quiet, and a tense silence fills the shop. Avery pushes herself onto her tiptoes, but she still can't see a thing.

"Welcome, Mr. Howel," the shop owner says. "It's our pleasure to see you again. But unfortunately, there's a slight problem with the dress you ordered."

Avery's blood turns to ice in her veins. The employees back away, vanishing like mist into the rest of the store, and Avery looks up at Evan's stern face. He stares back at her for a moment, and his lips curled into an ironic smirk. Then he turns away and glares down at the owner.

"What's the problem?" he asks.

"Well, this woman behind me got the dress dirty," the owner says. "She got her makeup on it, you see. It's a small spot, but we don't tolerate any flaws in our work here. I've asked her to pay for the cleaning fee, but she's rather difficult."

"Difficult, hmm?" Evan asks, amusement in his voice.

The owner's forehead wrinkles and she stammered, "Yes, quite difficult." She steps back and grabs Avery by the shoulder, and shoves her toward Evan. "Apologize now," she hisses. "Maybe Mr. Howel will forgive your sloppiness."

Avery stumbles and stares blankly at Evan. But why does he want a wedding dress? She wonders. The realization feels like a bucket of ice water thrown over her head: he's going to marry Rebecca. The spectacular diamond and pearl dress is for Rebecca. No wonder Evan didn't try to save me from the kidnappers, she thinks. He's really over me.

"Are you stupid?" the shop owner hisses. "Do you have any idea who Mr. Howel is? Apologize!"

Evan snaps his fingers, and Robert steps forward. He grabs the owner by her meaty arm and throws her onto the floor. He puts one foot on top of her pudgy hand and presses down.

"Ouch," the owner screams. "What are you doing?"

"What exactly do you want her to apologize for?" Robert asks. "It seems to me you're telling lies to Mr. Howel and blaming innocent customers for your own mistakes."

"You're right," the owner whimpers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been so careless with the dress."

Evan steps away from Robert and the owner as if they have nothing to do with him. He walks toward Avery, and she feels her breath hitch in her throat. She takes a step back and bumps into a mannequin.

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?" he asks.

"Why should I answer your calls?" Avery asks. "What could you possibly have to say to me?"

Evan's eyes flash, but he smiles and asks, "Do you like the dress?"

Avery looks at the exquisite confection of white silk, pearls, and diamonds and shakes her head, "No, I don't like it at all."

Evan shrugs and says, "Oh well." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper, "You don't need to transfer the Zuri Hotel. When I give a gift, it's permanent. But here's a check for two hundred million dollars. You can cash it at any time."

Avery bites her tongue. She wants to yell at him and ask him why he's giving her the money now that she's free. If he can write this check now, he could have just as easily given it to the kidnappers instead of risking her life by calling the police. She looks up at his arrogant face and makes up her mind. She takes the check and rips it into tiny shreds.

"I came to you with a business deal, and instead, you're giving me a handout," she says. "I'm not your charity case. If you want to buy the Zuri Hotel we can talk. If not, you can keep your money."

She lifts her hands and lets the torn check fall like confetti to the floor. Then she turns on her heel and walks back toward the dressing rooms. Once in the privacy of the room, she checks her phone—still no text from Andrew. With a heavy sigh, she reaches her hand overhead and starts to unzip the dress. Even if Andrew shows up, she's not in the mood to take photos anymore.

"Excuse me, do you need any help in there?" the stylist calls from outside the door.

"Yes, please," she says. "I can't get the zipper down—I think it's stuck."

The door opens, and she hears rapid footsteps on the thick carpet. She looks down at her phone and starts to type a message to Andrew, warning him that the photo shoot is canceled. A heavy hand brushes against her back and tugs the zipper down.

"Hey, be careful with that," she says. "Don't tear the fabric."

The dress falls to the ground, and she stretches her arms above her head, enjoying the cool air on her skin. A warm fingertip trails down her spine, and she turns around, ready to smack the stylist in the face. Instead, she finds herself face to face with Evan.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" she screams. "Get out!"

"Don't be angry," he says.

His eyes drop down to her pale clavicle and then further down to her breasts. She remembers she's not wearing a bra and crosses her arms over her chest as a flush creeps up to her cheeks.

"Are you serious?" she asks. "You sneak into my dressing room and undress me, and now you're telling me not to be angry? Go to hell, Evan!"

Evan ignores her and asks, "Why do you want to transfer the hotel to me?"

"Because I don't want it," she says. "I don't want to have anything to do with you. I don't want to remember anything about our past life together. I want to move on once and for all."

Evan reaches down and caresses her stomach. His voice is low and rough as he says, "Look at you. Do you honestly believe you can just cut me out of your life like that? We'll always have something to do with each other. We're bound together, Avery."

Her lip trembles, and she whispers, "Don't touch me."

"Why not?" he asks.

"My fiancé is coming," she says. "He better not catch us like this."

"Are you sure you want to marry him?" Evan asks.