Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 307

**TITLE: Wrong person 307**

**Chapter 307**

The remnants of the cake lay scattered across the table, a mere shadow of its former glory. In a fit of misguided humor, someone had crammed one of the fake grenades into the frosting, leaving a chaotic mark on the otherwise festive scene. Boomer, with a look of mock indignation, swears it wasn’t his doing, but we all know better—his denial is practically a confession. Frosting now adorns one of the mirrors, a sugary signature of the evening’s antics, while a mustache—likely the handiwork of Max—graces the Grinch cutout, adding a layer of absurdity to the atmosphere.

In short: things are definitely heating up.

I find my place against the far wall, arms folded across my chest, a lukewarm soda can cradled in my hand. I scan the room like a soldier on reconnaissance, taking in the scene before me.

Some of the guys from the base are already a bit tipsy, their laughter echoing as they shoulder-check one another, their stories spilling out in loud, slurred words that blend into a cacophony of noise. Mila, ever the instigator, has taken it upon herself to mock-interrogate them for the juiciest gossip. Meanwhile, Anna has taken to the floor, dancing in an exaggerated slow-motion to “Danger Zone,” her movements a perfect counterpoint to the wild playlist that swings between high-octane action movie soundtracks and Penny’s rehearsal tracks.

And there’s Penny.

Across the room, she’s a beacon of joy, laughing animatedly with Mila. Her hair, once neatly braided, has tumbled down in delightful disarray, and her hands dance through the air as she speaks. It’s striking how she hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol, nor has Mila. Their pact to abstain from booze a week before their performance remains unbroken, a testament to their dedication.

Watching her in this vibrant state, so perfectly herself even amidst the chaos of my birthday party, feels like a privilege I don’t quite deserve. It’s like witnessing sunlight filtering through water—beautiful, illuminating, yet overwhelming in its brilliance.

It’s the kind of moment that makes you want to look away, just to protect your heart from the intensity of it all.

Our parents had departed a short while ago. Penny’s mom had kissed her gently on the cheek, whispering something that brought a rosy blush to her cheeks. My dad, ever the pragmatist, had leaned in close and advised me to “try not to destroy the structural integrity of the building,” while my mom had handed me a Tupperware filled with leftover rice balls, saying it was “just in case.” I hadn’t dared to ask what exactly I needed to be prepared for.

Fifteen minutes later, she arrived.

Madame Loretto.

Her heels clicked sharply against the floor, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her arms folded behind her back as if she were ready to deliver a court martial. The room fell silent, the jovial atmosphere shifting into something more serious.

Her gaze swept across the chaos—Max in a ridiculous vest, Rooster duct-taping goggles onto someone’s face, and the cake precariously perched on a table that had been inadvertently karate-kicked earlier.

When her eyes landed on me, she said, “Mr. Hayes. If this studio is not restored to the exact condition I left it in, I will make you run barre drills in steel-toed boots.”

“Understood, ma’am,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, though inside, I felt a flutter of anxiety.

She nodded, a hint of approval in her expression. “I always approved of you.”

Then, her attention shifted to Boomer. “And you. But…”

Her finger shot across the room, pointing directly at Mila.

“She eats boys like you for breakfast.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify