Hotel cleaner Landon is betrayed by his cheating wife, who drains their savings while his mother needs medical help. After a car accident, he gains the ability to see lifespans and object values. He rises to wealth, saves his mother, and wins heiress Quella's heart—while his betrayers pay.

To salvage his reputation after a scandalous accidental kiss with scholarship student Xavier, popular quarterback Alex Watson proposes a fake dating scheme. Bound by a contract, they must convincingly perform as the campus "it" couple until the student election is over. Alex seeks to repair his image, while the financially struggling Xavier needs the money. However, as they navigate staged PDA, frat party games, and a relentless rival, their initial animosity and pretend affection begin to blur into something undeniably real. Forced to confront hidden feelings and external threats, they must decide what is more important: winning the election or risking their hearts for a chance at genuine love

Charlotte and Arthur enter a contractual marriage, but misunderstandings and Arthur's ex, Stella, lead to three years of pain. As they approach divorce, arguments and flashbacks reveal his true feelings and her past depression. They eventually reconcile, rekindling their love.

At the Golden Feather Academy, after being rejected, Queen Celine offers her playboy stepbrother Leo a night with her if he can seduce and destroy the boy who refused her—the president's son, Logic. But when Leo's fake pursuit turns real, Celine loses control of Leo forever...

Mafia princess Lucia Capello, secretly trained by her grandfather for three years, returns home at Christmas to discover that “Mrs. Capello” is an impostor—her real mother has been humiliated. Alone, Lucia takes on everyone, reclaims her family’s power, and finds love with her quiet protector, Noah.

I swept the dust across the gym floor, each bounce of the basketball striking the hardwood like a hammer against my heart. There were my brothers, wearing the same jersey I once wore, dribbling, breaking through, slamming the ball down right in front of me. They laughed loud and proud, but their eyes kept flicking toward the broom in my hands. "Hey, isn't that Holden? Top draft pick turned janitor?" "Heard his old man's dying. Needs eighty grand for surgery." "No wonder he came back to sweep floors. Guess life's cheaper than a basketball." I kept my head down, picking up rubber scraps one by one. Sweat trickled from my forehead into my eyes, stinging like fire. No one knew I stayed in this empty gym every night until three a.m., shooting ten thousand shots, doing five hundred push-ups—just so my fingers wouldn’t forget how the ball felt. Then came that practice game. The starting point guard twisted his ankle. The coach looked around, sneered: "No one else? Fine. Let the cleaner fill in." The whole gym erupted in laughter. I took off my work jacket, revealing my faded number 13 jersey underneath. The moment I stepped onto the court, time seemed to rewind— I stole the ball, stopped on a dime, pulled up for a jumper. Shot from beyond the arc, nothing but net. Silence. Then I drove past three defenders and slammed it with one hand, the backboard vibrating with a low hum. When I landed, the entire arena was dead quiet—only my heavy breathing broke the stillness. The coach walked over, face dark, and threw his towel at my face: **"Do what you're supposed to do."** I didn’t move. The towel fell to the ground. That night, I slipped into the coach’s office, hoping to find something—anything—my father might have left behind. Opening a drawer, I found a yellowed photo—me holding the championship trophy in high school, him standing at the sidelines recording on his phone, grinning like a fool. On the back, a single line: **"My son will come back to the court."** I clutched the photo as tears dropped to the floor. And just outside, on a bench in the hallway, my father sat in a wheelchair, cradling an old family photo of us when I was young. An oxygen tube ran into his nose, his breaths shallow and faint. He stared toward the gym, lips trembling, whispering: "I'm sorry… Dad couldn’t protect you." I stood up, wiped my face, gripped the broom tight. Turned around, and walked back toward the gym. The lights were still on.