His words sent a ripple through the crowd.

People instinctively stepped back, putting distance between themselves and Evelyn. They wanted no part of the fallout.

"Poor Evelyn. She's finished now."

"Provoking Anastasia is like signing your own death warrant."

"We told her to just apologize, but she was too proud. She has no one to blame but herself."

"In this freezing weather, being stripped bare would surely lead to a severe illness."

"A cold? That's the least of her problems. If this humiliation happens, the video will be all over the internet in thirty minutes. She'll never be able to show her face in society again."

Anastasia's command seemed to be the final verdict. As she spoke, several men in black suits materialized, moving to seize Evelyn.

Evelyn's face turned ashen. Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.

How could she escape this?

She refused to believe it. Alexander would never give her a counterfeit gown.

As the men closed in, Evelyn clenched her jaw. Her fists tightened at her sides, her body tensing for a fight to protect her dignity.

But just as a hand reached for her, a voice thundered across the room, freezing everyone in place. "Halt! What is the meaning of this?"

Anastasia spun around, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. "Mr. Montclair? What seems to be the issue? I'm merely ensuring this impostor removes her fake dress."

Julian Montclair's face darkened, a tempest in his eyes. "Who dares to claim she is wearing a fake? Have you all taken leave of your senses?"

His voice echoed, silencing the whispers. A sudden, palpable shift occurred.

Wait. What was happening?

Hadn't Julian himself indicated something was wrong with Evelyn's dress mere moments ago?

Why was he intervening so forcefully now?

The room buzzed with bewildered murmurs.

"Mr. Montclair, aren't you offended that she's wearing a counterfeit of your design?" someone called out urgently. "You've always been vocal about your disdain for such things."

Julian's frown deepened. "What absolute rubbish are you talking about?" he retorted, his tone sharp with impatience.

He gestured decisively toward Evelyn. "That is not a counterfeit. It is one of my original creations. Why in the world would I be angry about that?"

A stunned silence fell over the gathering. Everyone was trying to process this complete reversal.

Anastasia's shock quickly morphed into pure fury. "What? How is that possible?" she exclaimed, her voice rising. "Mr. Montclair, this is your design, is it not? You can't possibly be mistaken."

Julian turned his gaze to Anastasia, his eyes narrowing as he truly registered that her dress was an exact copy of Evelyn's.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a look of perplexity crossing his features. "My apologies, Anastasia. The red wine stain on your gown has altered its color significantly. I didn't immediately recognize it as the same piece."

Furious, Anastasia balled her hands into fists. "That was no accident! Evelyn deliberately ruined my dress! She's consumed by jealousy and is trying to humiliate me publicly! You must do something! I cannot allow her to get away with this!"

Rebecca, who had been watching quietly, stepped forward with a feigned look of concern. "Mr. Montclair, please, you must look again. We cannot allow Evelyn to continue acting with such impunity. You need to intervene!"

As the argument raged, Julian pieced the situation together.

His brow furrowed as he fully comprehended the identical nature of the two dresses. Suddenly, a low chuckle escaped him.

He shook his head in sheer disbelief. "This is utterly preposterous," he remarked, his voice cutting through the noise. "Since when does the wearer of the imitation dare to accuse the owner of the original of being the fake? It's completely ludicrous."

The room fell into a dead, stunned silence.

What did he just say?

Was Julian Montclair declaring that Evelyn was wearing the authentic gown... and that Anastasia's dress was the counterfeit?