Julian Montclair stood with an aura of frigid detachment.

Anastasia Davenport moved to close the distance between them.

He recoiled instantly.

A visible shudder of revulsion passed through him. He took a deliberate step back.

"Wait." His voice was a sharp command. "What is that you're wearing? Stay right there." Julian grimaced, his handsome features contorting in clear distaste. "Do not come any closer. I refuse to have my suit soiled."

Anastasia's cheeks flushed a deep, mortified crimson.

Humiliation washed over her.

This was all Evelyn's fault. If that wretched woman hadn't ruined her original gown, she would never be presenting such a disgraceful appearance before a man of Julian Montclair's stature.

A silent, venomous promise solidified in her heart. Evelyn would pay. Severely.

"Mr. Montclair, please, allow me to explain," Anastasia began, her voice pleading. "It was an unfortunate accident, you see, because—"

He cut her off with an impatient wave of his hand. "Spare me the details. State your business. I am a busy man. The only reason I am here is because of a favor I owe your husband."

His blunt dismissal hung heavily in the quiet room.

Anastasia and her cluster of former classmates exchanged uneasy glances.

The truth was now undeniable. Julian Montclair had no personal connection to Anastasia whatsoever.

She was trapped. She desperately needed his influence, not just to confront Evelyn, but to utterly crush her. Yet, offending a man of his power could be catastrophic.

Rebecca Thornton, her patience long evaporated, could no longer contain her fury. She burst into the conversation.

"Mr. Montclair! You will not believe the audacity we've witnessed tonight!" she exclaimed, her voice shrill with indignation. "At our reunion, a woman has the gall to wear a cheap, pathetic imitation of one of your legendary designs!"

She narrowed her eyes, pointing dramatically across the room. "And she refuses to admit it! It's a blatant insult to your genius! She is insufferably arrogant. She didn't just clash with Anastasia—she bullied her! You must confront her. She must be held accountable for this disrespect!"

Julian's expression darkened instantly. His brows furrowed into a deep scowl.

Counterfeit versions of his work were a constant, grating annoyance. He despised them with every fiber of his being.

To encounter one here, now, was profoundly irritating.

"An imitation?" he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

His sharp gaze swept across the gathering, scanning the attendees like a hawk.

"Who?" he demanded. "Who dares to wear such a forgery?"

Rebecca, seeing his eyes pause momentarily on Evelyn, seized her chance. She thrust a finger directly at her.

"Her! Mr. Montclair, it's Evelyn! She is the one wearing the fake!"

Julian's intense focus locked onto Evelyn.

He took a single, purposeful step toward her.

Then another.

He stopped abruptly. A sharp, audible gasp escaped his lips.

His eyes widened slightly as they raked over her gown.

"Your dress..." he murmured, his tone shifting from anger to something else entirely. Something like disbelief. "There is... something very unusual about your dress."

Evelyn's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden silence.

Her thoughts scrambled.

What? What was wrong with her dress?

Could it actually be... a counterfeit?

No. That was absolutely impossible. Alexander would never...

Julian Montclair took another step closer, his gaze now intensely analytical.

"Tell me," he commanded, his voice low and compelling, demanding an answer she did not have. "Where did you get this gown?"