Animal Whisperer: Take Back My Life and Love Chapter 406: The True Meaning of Influence

Kevin and Jenna stood frozen, the smug smiles on their faces shattering. It felt as if they had been slapped in front of the entire crew.

"Delivered by Goodman Corp?" Kevin’s voice was actually shaking.

"Sent specifically for... that Nancy?"

Jenna’s face shifted from a bright flush to a sickly, pale green. She looked absolutely nauseated.

The lead bodyguard let out a sharp, derisive laugh. "Ms. Nancy is the only animal communicator capable of treating the trauma in Mr. Goodman’s wolfdog. She is his honored guest. Who else would we be sending this to? You two, who can't even recognize your own fan support?"

He waved them off with a look of pure disgust. "If you want a support event, go call your fans. Stop trying to scavenge off Mr. Goodman’s generosity."

The words cut through the Dessert Route crew like a serrated blade. They had spent the entire day acting as free labor for the Sicily production, and now they were being publicly humiliated.

The resentment that had been building since sunrise finally boiled over. The crew began to disperse, muttering insults that hit the two stars right where it hurt.

"Unbelievable. We are out here making fools of ourselves over someone else’s supplies."

"No kidding. They acted so confident, I actually thought they had coordinated with their fan clubs."

"It is a joke. They were offering signed photos and group shots, and the guys didn't even know who they were!"

"Maybe fact-check your own popularity before you start bragging next time. That ego check was painful to watch even from back here."

"Let’s just go. Who is stupid enough to try and claim credit for something Goodman Corp sent?"

Kevin and Jenna remained paralyzed, their faces burning. Their arrogance had vanished, replaced by a raw, suffocating sense of shame. They wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole in the sand and disappear.

On the other side of the set, the Sicily crew was staring at the massive display in utter shock.

"My god... Goodman Corp? Is this what top-tier power actually looks like?"

"Nancy is on another level. Mr. Goodman sent a private fleet just to take care of our crew!"

The lead bodyguard ignored the two disgraced stars and turned toward the Sicily production. He unfolded a heavy, gold-embossed menu, his tone softening slightly though his presence remained commanding.

"Hard work today, everyone."

"We have coffee, desserts, and full meals ready. Order whatever you like, and we will have it served immediately."

He gestured toward the fleet of luxury motorhomes. "If any of the staff need to rest between scenes, the trailers are at your disposal. They are equipped with massage chairs, and Mr. Goodman has provided two professional masseuses to help relieve your fatigue."

The Sicily crew was speechless. They were a short-drama production working on a shoestring budget, yet they were being treated to the kind of luxury that eclipsed S-tier blockbuster sets.

The bodyguard scanned the area, his voice respectful. "Where is Ms. Nancy?"

Just then, Nancy appeared from behind a nearby dune, cradling the Pallas’s cat she had rescued after it wandered off. She looked at the luxury fleet and the sea of eyes fixed on her, completely bewildered.

"What is going on?" she whispered to herself. "Did some international superstar just drop in? Please don't tell me someone else is here to shut us down."

Before she could finish the thought, the deep, predatory roar of an engine tore through the desert silence.

Everyone turned toward the highway. A pitch-black hypercar, sleek as a shadow and fast as a lightning strike, was screaming toward the set.

"Wait, am I hallucinating?" a camera assistant who knew his cars shouted, rubbing his eyes. "That is a Bugatti Chiron SS 300! That is a nine-figure car! What is that thing doing on a desert road?"

The crew collectively gasped at the price tag. Driving a hundred-million-dollar car into the desert was insanity; the maintenance alone would cost six figures.

The car glided to a halt, and its butterfly doors swung upward with mechanical grace.

Under the breathless gaze of the crowd, Barry stepped out, holding Star’s leash. He was wearing a light gray cashmere shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Even with his sunglasses on, his sharp jawline and the sheer weight of his presence brought the entire set to a standstill.

Barry walked across the sand, his eyes fixed on the confused Nancy.

Nancy gripped the heavy Pallas’s cat tighter, her eyes rounding in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

A faint, soft smile tugged at Barry’s lips. "I am here to visit the set of the famous Ms. Nancy."