Page 4 of Single Dad’s Fake Bride (Billionaire Baby Daddies #7)

"Plenty of people aren't marrying for an inheritance." He landed a light hook to my ribs. "What happens if you actually find someone? You going to tell her the truth?"

"That depends on who she is." I threw a harder cross that he caught on his gloves.

"Right. Because lying is a great foundation for marriage." Juan stepped back and lowered his hands. "Seriously, H. What's this really about? You haven't set foot in that school since graduation. Why do you care what happens to it now?"

I kept my guard up, unwilling to drop the pretense of sparring even though we both knew this conversation was the real fight.

"Because it's the only thing that still belongs to me," I said finally. "Everything else—the house, the money, the family name—I walked away from all of it. But the school… the school was supposed to be different."

"Different how?" Juan resumed his stance, throwing gentle combinations that kept us moving without doing damage.

"It was supposed to be about education. About giving kids opportunities they couldn't get anywhere else."

I blocked his jab and threw one of my own. "My father used to talk about character and leadership, about preparing the next generation for service rather than privilege."

"And you think he succeeded?" Juan's left hook caught me off balance, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make his point.

"No. But I think he tried, at least in the beginning. Before the donors started calling the shots and the board started making compromises."

I steadied myself and threw a combination that Juan picked apart effortlessly. "Before it became just another finishing school for kids whose parents can afford the tuition."

"So fix it." Juan dropped his hands again, his dark eyes serious. "You want to honor your father's memory? You want to protect Eloise's future? Find someone who shares your vision and marry her. Stop making this about wounded pride and family drama."

The words hit harder than any punch.

I lowered my gloves and leaned against the ropes, suddenly exhausted by the weight of expectations and deadlines.

"You make it sound easy."

"It is easy. You're making it complicated." Juan grabbed two water bottles from the corner post and tossed me one. "You need someone trustworthy, intelligent, and uninterested in your money. Someone who cares about education and understands what you're trying to accomplish."

"A unicorn, in other words."

"A teacher, maybe. Someone who's already invested in the mission." He took a long drink and studied my face. "Anyone come to mind?"

I thought about Sadie Quinn standing in her classroom, erasing the whiteboard while Eloise chattered about Anne of Green Gables .

The way she'd listened to my questions about my daughter's progress, offering insights that showed she understood Eloise better than most adults.

The careful way she'd answered when I asked about her future at the school, as if she were accustomed to disappointment but still hoped for better.

"Maybe," I said quietly.

"Then stop overthinking it. You've got eighty-seven days to save everything you claim to care about. Either find a solution or admit you never really wanted it in the first place."

Juan was right, as usual.

I'd spent too many years running from my father's expectations to recognize when I was still doing it.

The board wanted me to fail because it would prove their assumptions about the prodigal son who had never belonged.

My sisters wanted me to fail because it would validate their belief that loyalty should be rewarded over independence.

But Eloise deserved better than the legacy of failure and resentment I'd inherited.

She deserved the chance to choose her own path, whether that meant embracing the Vale tradition or rejecting it entirely.

Juan headed for the showers, leaving me alone with the heavy bags and the echo of his words.

I threw a few more combinations, working out the last of my frustration on the leather and canvas, then followed him toward the locker room.

My phone buzzed as I was gathering my gear.

A text message from Margot.

Margot: 10:23 PM: You're not going to win this. Walk away while you still can.

I stared at the screen, fury building in my chest.

My sisters had spent their entire adult lives playing the dutiful daughters, attending family functions and school events, writing checks to the annual fund and serving on committees.

But they had never cared about the school itself—only about the social status and financial benefits that came with the Vale name.

They wanted my father's money, not his mission.

They saw Hawthorne as an asset to be managed, not a community to be served.

And they were willing to destroy everything he'd built rather than let me have the chance to preserve it.

I deleted the message without responding and headed for the parking lot.

Eighty-six days to find a wife and save a school.

Juan was right—I needed to stop overthinking and start acting.

But first, I needed to figure out if Sadie Quinn was the solution I'd been looking for or just another complication in an already impossible situation.