

Lucas Carter is the charismatic captain of his college hockey team. After a concussion leaves him with temporary amnesia, his life begins to unravel. He forgets his complicated rivalry with transfer student Albert Clay, making him the perfect target for Albert's carefully constructed lie: Albert claims they have secretly been lovers all along. As Lucas struggles to separate truth from deception, he still believes he is straight, yet finds himself irresistibly drawn to Albert. Torn between his girlfriend Jessica, his fading memories, and feelings he can no longer deny, Lucas embarks on a journey to uncover who he truly is. Along the way, he is forced to confront his identity, his buried emotions, and the truth behind Albert's betrayal.

Med student Miles catches his influencer girlfriend cheating. To get back at her, he stages a “fake affair” — only to accidentally kiss the handsome CEO, Hunter. He swore he didn’t like men… and Miles thought he was straight too. But one kiss changed everything......

Jackson Tiller and Emily Gateley break down the chaos of filming the viral show "Uncle Richard Is My Baby Daddy," sharing behind-the-scenes stories, on-set chemistry, and the wild ride of acting for vertical TV. Raw, funny, and unfiltered—this is where drama meets real talk.

In the VIP lounge of an underground casino, Maeve, the Falcone family's princess, had been plied with too much hard liquor. Fueled by alcohol, someone goaded her into revealing the most shameless thing she'd ever done to win over the Don. She swirled her glass, pointed at me dealing cards behind the table, and threw her head back with a laugh. "Seven years ago, when Declan was in a coma after a shootout, I took his private phone. And I deleted the distress message that bitch sent him. Every last trace of it. Then I replied in his name: You're a burden. Go die." "You'll never guess what happened next. That idiot stood outside the safe house all night in a downpour, like a stray dog. I almost died laughing…" The room erupted in crude laughter. Only the man enthroned at the head of the table remained silent. The crystal whiskey glass in his hand shattered with a sharp crack. Blood mixed with the amber liquor, trickling over the veins on the back of his hand before dripping onto the carpet. His murderous, bloodshot eyes were locked on me. I calmly dealt the last hole card in front of him and offered a clean, white silk handkerchief. "Don Declan, you should wipe your hand. Blood on the felt is bad luck." After all, some stains never wash out.