Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 304

**TITLE: Wrong Person 304**
**Chapter 304**

The engine’s low hum fills the car, a steady backdrop to my racing thoughts. My grip on the steering wheel is relaxed—too relaxed, I remind myself. If I tighten my hold any further, I might just leave an imprint, a reminder of the tension lurking beneath the surface.

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks that many would label as a picturesque slice of normalcy or perhaps even a beautiful chaos. But for me? It’s been the most exhilarating experience of my life.

Penny’s schedule is absolutely bonkers. I mean, beyond bonkers. She’s back in school full-time now, but honestly, it feels almost irrelevant at this point. Half of her teachers have practically thrown up their hands in surrender, excusing her from classes because Madame Loretto has them both training as if they’re gearing up for battle instead of performing a ballet. Early mornings have become our routine. Rehearsals that stretch into the late hours, often until ten at night. Extra drills on weekends. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched Penny drift off to sleep in the car, her head bobbing until we hit the freeway. It’s almost unsettling when she doesn’t nod off before we merge onto the highway.

Some nights, I find myself carrying her inside. She’s so exhausted that she doesn’t even stir.

Other nights, I gently nudge her awake, coaxing her to shower, eat something—anything—and then wrap her in a blanket, holding her close until she slips back into slumber. She’s small, but she’s fueled by grit, caffeine, and an indomitable will. I’ve never witnessed anything more awe-inspiring in my life.

The gala is just a week away now, and the excitement is palpable. Buzz fills the air. Posters plastered on every corner, banners flapping in the wind, event flyers crowding every café and subway tunnel. Just last weekend, we went out for pho, and the woman behind the counter handed Penny her order for free. “I recognized you from a promotional poster,” she said with a smile, and Penny’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pride.

In the past ten days, I’ve had to fend off three guys who thought they could approach her. One had the audacity to ask for her number in the middle of the produce aisle. Another had the nerve to wink at her right in front of me. And the third? He tried to slide into her DMs with some nonsense about “private lessons.” That one didn’t end well for him. I made sure he got the message—loud and clear.

And Penny?

She’s blissfully unaware of it all, too engrossed in her world. Her mind is consumed with choreography, footwork, and the relentless pursuit of her dreams. That laser focus of hers is a double-edged sword. It’s what has propelled her this far, and it ignites a protective fire within me, making me want to confront anyone who dares to look at her as if she’s anything less than extraordinary.

As for me? Work is a whirlwind.

It’s fast-paced, technical, and demanding. Everything I once adored about my field, minus the blood and broken bones. I’m training new units now, running operational simulations. Just yesterday, I drilled a team on gun and explosive safety, and halfway through the day, one of them addressed me as “sir.” I nearly burst out laughing. Almost.

At twenty-three, stepping away from active duty felt… incomplete, for a while. Like I was exiting the stage too soon, leaving a performance half-finished. But now? I’m beginning to see the impact I can create without ever pulling a trigger. I think maybe this is what I was always meant to do.

Yet, there are moments when I crave the adrenaline. The sharp anticipation of knowing something is about to happen. That electric awareness creeping up my spine, urging me to act.

It’s probably why I notice the darkness first.

I pull up outside the studio at 8:07 p.m. Penny had promised she’d be out by 8 sharp tonight. They were supposed to finish early for once. I brought sushi—her absolute favorite—and I’m determined to make her indulge more than she wants, relishing the way her eyes soften when she savors something warm, salty, and utterly perfect.

But the building is enveloped in darkness.

Not just dim.

Dark.

No studio lights illuminating the entrance. No welcoming glow from the front desk. No sign of her in the lobby, slipping on her hoodie or tying her shoes.

And Penny is nowhere to be seen.

She always waits for me outside if I’m late. Perched on the low brick ledge, headphones in, gazing at the sky or stretching her limbs with that innate dancer’s instinct that never truly switches off. But tonight? She’s absent.

My jaw tightens, a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach.

I lean back in my seat for a moment, one hand still gripping the steering wheel, the other sliding down to the gearshift.

Then I glance back at the building.

Something feels off.

The stillness is unsettling, the kind that sends all my instincts into overdrive.

I kill the engine, grab my phone, and step out into the biting cold.

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