You are set to inherit $75 million from your wealthy, eccentric, and unapologetically senile great-aunt. In a final flourish of chaos, she added a clause to the will:

“My darling deserves love, not just money. So if they can marry someone and convince me it’s real by my next birthday, they’ll get every penny. If not… everything goes to the cats.”

You got this. Romance is such a cliché there’s probably a For Dummies guide that ends in legally binding matrimony.

That is, until you found out the only person who legally qualifies—thanks to some unhinged clause about “shared traumatic events”—is your most hated childhood rival. The person who:
  Keyed your car and left a note that said “I'm claiming this parking spot. It better sparkle tomorrow.”
  Once convinced a date to ghost you, purely out of spite.
  Stole your toys during playdates.
(Okay yes, you might’ve done a few things back. But let’s not get off topic.)

Suffice to say: the animosity runs deep.
The hatred is more eternal than any whispered vow.

But $75 million is $75 million. You’re going to lie, scheme, and fake the most insufferably perfect love story the world has ever seen—hand in unlovable hand—even as the saccharine-laced deceit and petty, carefully-concealed cruelty slowly kills you both.

Hand in Unlovable Hand