The door closed, sealing off the room and the stunned faces within.

A collective, shaky exhale filled the space the moment Alexander Blackwood and Evelyn, flanked by their guards, departed.

The oppressive tension finally shattered.

"My God, I thought I was going to have a heart attack."

"For a moment there, I genuinely feared for my life."

"Can someone please explain what just happened? All those rumors we heard for years... were they complete lies?"

"Absolutely! Look at Alexander Blackwood. Does he seem like a powerless nobody? He commanded the entire room."

While some were still visibly shaken, a few voices tinged with regret began to surface.

"It's such a pity, really. If Alexander weren't confined to that wheelchair, he'd be utterly unstoppable."

"Lesson learned. I'm never speaking Evelyn's name disrespectfully again. His protectiveness over her is terrifying. Cross him, and we might just vanish."

Unaware of the whispers and fearful glances left in their wake, Evelyn and Alexander were now settled in the quiet interior of their luxury car.

Evelyn's mind was spinning, replaying every interaction from the evening. A knot of suspicion tightened in her gut.

She turned to face him, her gaze intense and searching. "Alexander," she began, her voice low but firm. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

He seemed caught off guard by the direct question, his expression shifting to one of confusion. "What are you talking about, Evelyn?"

She held his eyes, scrutinizing his face for any flicker of deception. "This gown," she stated, gesturing to the exquisite fabric. "It was designed by Julian Montclair, wasn't it?"

Alexander raised an eyebrow, surprised she knew the name, but saw no reason to deny it. "Yes. It was."

Even though she had already confirmed this with the designer's studio, hearing his straightforward admission made her breath catch.

Did Alexander truly understand the immense prestige of Julian Montclair in the global fashion world?

How had he possibly secured a commission from such an iconic figure?

And the casual, almost effortless way he had arranged for the delivery, as if it were an ordinary errand, baffled her completely.

Evelyn bit her lower lip, her thoughts a chaotic whirlwind.

Countless questions clamored for attention in her mind.

One burning concern pushed its way to the forefront. "And those gifts," she continued, her voice trembling slightly with the weight of her anxiety. "The incredibly expensive ones you handed out so freely. Tell me the truth, Alexander. Did you spend a fortune on all that?"

His response was dismissive, almost too casual. "I suppose you could say that."

His vagueness made her eyes widen in disbelief. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Frustration boiled over. She suddenly grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, her words desperate and urgent. "Alexander, you told me you were drowning in debt! You mentioned owing a billion! So how can you possibly afford such extravagance now?"

A horrifying thought struck her.

"Alexander, please don't tell me you took out another massive loan just to put on a show for them?" Her voice cracked, heavy with a mix of anger and deep concern. "Those people from my past mean nothing to me. You didn't have to do that..."

A wave of dizziness washed over her, making the car interior swim momentarily.

Seeing her distress, Alexander quickly reached out, his hands firm on her shoulders to steady her. "Easy," he murmured. A soft, low chuckle escaped him as he gently patted her back. "Come now, Darling. Do you really think so little of your husband?"