Animal Whisperer: Take Back My Life and Love Chapter 32: The Mad Wolfhound

"Thanks. Be a dear and take that to the tray return for me."

For a split second, Ginnie’s composed facade nearly shattered.

She suppressed her fury, maintaining her air of fragile elegance. "Nancy, why go out of your way to make things difficult for me? You know I’m not mobile right now."

"Because you and your personal maid here look like you have far too much free time on your hands," Nancy said with a shrug.

"I didn't break your leg, and you know it. Stop slandering me. You know better than anyone why you’re stuck in that chair." She remained perfectly calm. "I’m not here to apologize to you, and I’m certainly not here to beg the Summers family for anything."

Nancy’s gaze swept over the crowd. "You people are incredibly full of yourselves. I was invited to this banquet to examine a wolfhound."

The room erupted instantly.

"A wolfhound? Does she mean Mr. Goodman’s legendary dog?"

"I heard Mr. Goodman values that dog more than his own flesh and blood! Everything else takes a backseat to its well-being!"

"Why would they invite Nancy? Since when does she have ties to the Goodman family?"

"Well, word has it the Summers and the Goodmans had an old arrangement with each other..."

Ginnie’s eyes widened in shock, but Yolanda let out a cold, mocking laugh, her expression a mix of surprise and triumph. "You habitual liar! Of all the excuses to pick, you chose the most pretentious one imaginable. Ginnie is the director of the Summers Corporate Veterinary Hospital. She is the one specifically invited by the Goodman family to treat the wolfhound!"

The guests leaned in, eager for the drama.

"Wow, Nancy really talked herself into a corner this time."

"This is Errol’s birthday gala. Who even gave Nancy an invitation?"

"Maybe she slept her way in?"

Yolanda smirked, certain she had finally caught Nancy in a lie. "Ginnie is the vet here for the consultation. So, what are you here for? To beg for scraps?"

"First she begs online, now she’s doing it in person." Yolanda scanned Nancy’s outfit with a spiteful eye. "That gown and those accessories... I’ve never seen those designs. They look like knock-offs of Siren’s work."

There was a trace of hidden jealousy in her voice; the fabric of Nancy’s dress had a luster that was undeniably exquisite.

Right then, Jacob’s voice rang out from the staircase.

"Young lady, I have to wonder—is your eyesight failing, or are you just naturally blind?"

The guests looked up to see a handsome, blond-haired man in a burgundy silk shirt descending the stairs.

Jacob crossed his arms. "That gown is my latest design. It hasn't even been officially revealed yet. Miss Nancy is the first person in the world to wear it."

The socialites in the room went into a frenzy.

This man was the legendary Siren? The rising star of the fashion world that every luxury brand was desperate to sign? A Siren original was so exclusive that even the wealthiest clients had to wait months just for a consultation.

Nancy, who had spent her life buried in books, blinked in confusion. Who was Siren? Was he that famous? Bold move naming himself after a sea monster from mythology, she thought.

Yolanda’s face burned with embarrassment. "I... I’m so sorry. My mistake. I didn't realize it was an original..."

Jacob didn't care. He walked straight to Nancy, his blue eyes sparkling as if he were looking at a literal gold mine. "Come on, let’s go get you paid! The wolfhound is upstairs."

Before Nancy could respond, a panicked shout erupted from the floor above. "Everyone, clear the hall! Move!"

"Mr. Goodman’s wolfhound has lost control!"

A gray blur suddenly lunged from the second floor.

The creature was massive—more wolf than dog—and it looked like it had gone feral as it charged down the stairs. Standing nearly half the height of a man, the wolfhound tore through the room, emitting a haunting, guttural howl that chilled everyone to the bone.

The guests scrambled in terror, desperate to get out of its path.

In the chaos, Yolanda saw an opportunity. As she pushed Ginnie’s wheelchair, she gave a calculated, forceful shove.

Amidst the frantic crowd, the slender Nancy was slammed into by a fleeing guest.

She tumbled to the floor. Before she could even process the pain of the fall, she looked up to see the giant wolfhound charging directly toward her.

By sheer misfortune, she had landed right in its line of fire.

But Nancy didn't just see a monster; she heard the dog's agonizing whimpers.

"Get out of there! Enemy fire coming in! My owner is in danger!"

During university, Nancy had interned with international animal protection organizations and assisted in animal rescues in war-torn regions. In those areas, military dogs were trained to sniff out mines, patrol, and perform search-and-rescue.

She narrowed her eyes, realizing almost instantly that this "out of control" animal had likely been a military dog.

It wasn't just angry—it was suffering from canine PTSD.

Like humans with post-traumatic stress, the dog was likely experiencing a flashback, trapped in a hallucination where it believed it was back on a battlefield, its nerves frayed to the breaking point.