Page 1 of Single Dad’s Fake Bride (Billionaire Baby Daddies #7)

HARRISON

T he mahogany desk still bore the same water ring from my father's morning coffee cup.

Twenty-two years had passed since I last stood in this office, and every detail remained frozen in time—the leather-bound volumes arranged by height, the brass nameplate that read HEADMASTER VALE in severe block letters, the oil portrait of my grandfather glowering from above the fireplace.

Even the air smelled the same—old wood, floor wax, and the faint residue of disappointment.

I pulled my shoulders back and kept my hands at my sides.

The funeral had been three weeks ago, but this room transported me back to age sixteen, standing before that desk while my father explained why I would never measure up to the Vale legacy.

The memory tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Please, take a seat." Theodore Blackwood, the family attorney, gestured toward the conference table that had been wheeled in for the occasion.

His voice was carefully neutral, as it should be.

My father probably paid Blackwood well to make sure he kept the same air of impartiality he always had.

Caroline perched on the edge of her chair, her Hermès handbag clutched against her chest with both hands.

At thirty-six, she had perfected the art of looking perpetually offended, her blonde hair swept into a chignon so tight it pulled at the corners of her eyes.

She wore black, as befitted a grieving daughter, but the Chanel suit probably cost more than the new carpet in Dad's office.

Margot sat directly across from me, her fountain pen already poised above a legal pad.

Two years younger than Caroline, she had inherited our father's sharp angles and sharper tongue.

Her dark hair was also pulled back in a bun, and she wore the same expression she'd perfected during law school—the one that suggested everyone else in the room was an idiot.

"This is highly irregular," she said, tapping the pen against the table in a staccato rhythm. "Father always said the will would be straightforward. Equal distribution among the three children, with the academy held in trust."

"Your father changed his mind." Blackwood opened a thick folder and withdrew several bound documents. "The final will was executed six months ago, with proper witnesses and notarization."

I said nothing.

The board members flanked us on both sides—Dr. Patricia Sterling, the head of academics, sat rigid in her navy blazer.

Marcus Henley, the treasurer, kept checking his watch.

And at the head of the table, Board Chairman Robert Caldwell studied me with the same expression my father used to wear when I tracked mud through the school corridors.

"Before we begin," Caldwell said, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed, "I want to note for the record that this reading is a formality. The board has already discussed contingency plans should the will prove… unworkable."

The words hung in the air between threat and promise.

I met his gaze without flinching. "Then let's get on with it."

Blackwood cleared his throat and opened the first document.

"I, Edmund Vale, being of sound mind and body, do hereby revoke all previous wills and testaments…"

The formal language washed over me while I studied the faces around the table.

Caroline's grip on her handbag had tightened until her knuckles showed white.

Margot's pen had stilled, but her jaw remained locked in anticipation.

The board members leaned forward as if they could will the words to align with their preferences.

"To my son, Harrison Edmund Vale, I leave the family estate, including the main house, grounds, and all contents therein. I further bequeath to Harrison full ownership and operational control of Hawthorne Academy, including all assets, endowments, and decision-making authority."

"What?" The word exploded from Caroline's mouth before she could stop it. "That's impossible. He walked away from this family twenty-two years ago. He refused every olive branch, every attempt at reconciliation?—"

Blackwood held up a hand.

"Please allow me to finish."

Margot's pen resumed its tapping, faster now.

"There has to be more to it. Father wouldn't have given everything to someone who spent two decades treating the Vale name as a curse."

"Contingent upon the following condition. Harrison must enter into legal marriage within ninety days of my death, before his fortieth birthday. Should he fail to meet this requirement, all aforementioned assets will pass to the Hawthorne Academy Board of Trustees for disposition as they see fit."

The silence that followed felt thick enough to cut.

I could hear the grandfather clock in the corner marking time—tick, tick, tick—each second adding more pressure to my already frazzled nerves.

My sisters' faces were screwed up in anger at me over something I had no part of.

I didn't want this at all.

I just wanted to go home and grieve like any other man who'd just lost his father.

Caldwell leaned back in his chair, and I caught the hint of satisfaction in his expression.

"I see. And if Harrison chooses not to marry?"

"Then the board assumes full control," Blackwood confirmed. "The academy becomes an independent institution with no family oversight. The estate would be sold, with proceeds distributed to various educational charities."

"Manipulative bastard." Caroline's voice came out as a whisper, but it carried clearly in the silent room. "Even from the grave, he's still trying to control us."

I found my voice at last. "What about Caroline and Margot?"

"Each sister receives a trust fund of two million dollars, payable immediately, regardless of your decision."

Margot set down her pen with rage making her fingers shake.

"Two million. That's insulting. The academy alone is worth fifty times that amount."

"Your father was very specific about his intentions," Blackwood said. "He believed Harrison was the only one capable of preserving the school's original mission."

The word "original" made me want to grumble out a few choice words, but I bit my tongue.

I remembered my father's speeches about character and tradition, about molding young minds for leadership.

I also remembered the loneliness that permeated every corner of this place, the way students and faculty alike learned to keep their heads down and their emotions hidden.

"The man who raised us in an institutional dormitory thinks he knows about family values?" Caroline's voice climbed toward hysteria. "Harrison hasn't spoken to any of us in years. He doesn't even use the Vale name."

"I use it for Eloise," I said quietly.

The admission surprised them into silence.

My daughter attended Hawthorne as a day student—the only compromise I had been willing to make with my past.

She lived at home with me, had her own bedroom and birthday parties and bedtime stories.

Everything I had never known.

Dr. Sterling spoke for the first time since the reading began.

"The child is enrolled here, yes. But that hardly qualifies her father to run an institution of this caliber."

"With respect," I said, keeping my voice level, "I've managed multi-million-dollar construction projects for the past fifteen years. I understand budgets, timelines, and personnel management."

"Building shopping centers is hardly the same as educational leadership," Caldwell said dismissively.

Margot leaned forward, her lawyer instincts finally kicking into gear. "I want to see the psychological evaluation that deemed Father competent to execute this will. No rational person would place such arbitrary conditions on an inheritance."

"Your father underwent a full cognitive assessment," Blackwood replied smoothly. "I have the documentation here if you'd care to review it."

"This whole thing is a circus," Caroline snapped. "No court in the country would uphold these terms. They're punitive and unreasonable."

I stood up, the chair scraping against the floor.

Every eye in the room fixed on me, waiting for my response.

The boy who had fled this place at eighteen would have agreed with Caroline.

He would have walked away from the money, the responsibility, the impossible weight of family expectation.

But that boy hadn't known about Eloise yet.

"I'll do it," I said.

The room erupted.

Caroline shot to her feet, her handbag dropping to the floor with a thud. "You can't be serious. You don't even want this place."

"You're right. I don't want the money or the estate." I looked directly at Caldwell, letting him see the resolve in my expression. "But I want the school to remain what it was meant to be. And I want my daughter to have the choice I never had—to belong somewhere or to leave."

Margot gathered her papers with sharp, angry movements.

"This is insane. Ninety days to find a wife? What woman in her right mind would agree to that arrangement?"

"I'll find someone."

"A gold digger, you mean. Someone willing to marry you for access to the Vale fortune." Caroline's voice dripped with disdain. "That's exactly the kind of marriage Father would have approved of—cold, calculated, and completely without love."

The accusation stung because it held a grain of truth.

But love had nothing to do with what I needed.

I needed someone reliable, trustworthy, and uninterested in the social climbing that came with the Vale name.

Someone who would understand that this was about my daughter's future, not romantic fairy tales.

Dr. Sterling cleared her throat.

"The board will require assurance that any marriage meets the spirit of the will's requirements, not merely the letter. We won't be fooled by obvious shams or temporary arrangements."

"The marriage will be legal and permanent," I said. "The will's terms will be met."

Caldwell's smile held no warmth. "We'll see about that. Theodore, I assume you'll be monitoring the situation closely?"

Blackwood nodded. "I'll file the necessary paperwork and track compliance with the timeline."

Margot stood abruptly, shoving her legal pad into her briefcase.

"This is ridiculous. I'm calling my partners first thing Monday morning. There has to be a way to challenge this farce."

"You're welcome to try," I said calmly. "But while you're filing motions, I'll be finding a wife."

"A wife." Caroline practically spat the word. "You make it sound like a business transaction."

I met her gaze without flinching.

"Isn't that what marriage has always been in this family?"

The question hung in the air as Margot snapped her briefcase shut and headed for the door.

She paused at the threshold, her hand on the brass handle that had probably been polished by countless students over the decades.

"No court will uphold this circus," she said, her voice carrying across the room with courtroom authority. "You can count on that."

She yanked the door open and stalked into the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor in rapid retreat.

Caroline followed without a word, clutching her handbag against her chest as if it could shield her from the indignity of being cut out of the family legacy.

The remaining board members exchanged glances heavy with meaning.

Dr. Sterling gathered her papers with the same careful precision she probably used to grade examinations.

Marcus Henley finally stopped checking his watch and closed his portfolio.

Caldwell remained seated, his pale eyes fixed on me with undisguised calculation.

"Theodore," he said without breaking eye contact, "get your things. You're no longer welcome here."

Blackwood's face went white, but he nodded and began packing his documents with shaking hands.

In less than an hour, I had gained an inheritance and lost the only advocate who understood my father's true intentions.

As the room emptied around me, I stayed rooted beside my chair, surrounded by the ghosts of my childhood and the weight of an impossible deadline.

Ninety days to find a wife.

Ninety days to save my daughter's future.

Ninety days to prove that the boy who ran away from Hawthorne Academy could return as the man it needed.

The grandfather clock chimed the hour, marking another sixty minutes gone.

I had eighty-nine days left.