Episode 2

The wedding

White Villa – That Night

Daisy strutted into the house, a smug smile on her lips and no single regret in her soul. She had poured tequila on New York's most feared billionaire and walked away like a queen.

She kicked off her heels and was about to head upstairs when her father's voice boomed from the living room.

"How was the date?"

Daisy turned slowly, rolling her eyes. "Let's just say... he got a little taste of what it's like to force me into a marriage I never agreed to."

Her father narrowed his eyes, but before he could respond, his phone rang.

Caller ID: Cassian Blackwood

He answered immediately. "Cassian. I was about to call you-"

"No need," Cassian said coolly. "I'm calling to finalize the wedding."

Mr. White blinked. "Wait... what?"

Cassian's deep voice rumbled through the speaker, confident and amused. "She poured tequila on my pants like a damn rebel and walked away like she owned the world. I like her."

There was a long pause.

"She's wild, unpredictable, disobedient... and she challenges me. That's exactly what I need."

Mr. White's jaw dropped. "So... you're saying-?"

Cassian chuckled. "I'm saying it's going to be to be amazing if I get married to your daughter... and I'm all in. Let's get this wedding started."

He hung up.

Daisy watched her father with a frown. "What did he say?"

Mr. White slowly looked up at her, both confused and stunned.

"He said... he loves your attitude."

Daisy's smirk disappeared.

"What?"

"He's finalizing the wedding. He said you're exactly what he needs."

Daisy stared at him, speechless for once.

"What the actual hell is wrong with that man?" she whispered.

Her father leaned back on the couch, laughing softly. "Looks like you just got yourself a husband... and a challenge."

---

DAISY'S ROOM – LATER THAT NIGHT

Daisy slammed the door shut behind her and threw her bag on the bed like it had personally offended her.

"What kind of psycho likes getting tequila dumped on his pants?" she muttered, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. "Is he into humiliation? Is that his thing?"

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: You have no idea what you've started, little angel.

She stared at the message. Her jaw dropped.

Daisy: Who is this??

Unknown Number: Your future husband. You made the first move. Now it's my turn.

She dropped the phone on the bed like it was cursed. "Oh no. Oh no no no. He's insane."

And hot, her inner voice whispered.

"Shut up."

There was a knock on her door. It cracked open and her dad peeked in.

"You've made quite an impression, Daisy."

"I wasn't trying to impress anyone."

"Well, it didn't matter. Cassian wants the wedding as soon as possible. You should start getting ready."

Daisy blinked. "For what?"

"The engagement party. He's hosting it tomorrow night at his penthouse."

She stared at her father in horror.

"Tell him to choke on his champagne."

"Tell him yourself," her father said with a shrug. "But wear something nice. You're going to be the center of attention."

The door closed behind him, and Daisy stood there, stunned.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror.

"So he wants war?" she whispered to herself.

She smirked.

"Fine. He'll get it."

---

Next day

Cassian penthouse

Do you, Miss Daisy white, take Mr. Cassian Blackwood as your lawfully wedded husband till death do you part?" the priest asked, his voice shaking slightly as he glanced between the couple.

Daisy -fiery, barefoot, and absolutely done-glared at the man beside her like he was a cockroach in a Gucci suit. If eyes could kill, Cassian would be a lifeless corpse in Armani.

The priest hesitated to repeat the question, but dasiy beat him to it.

"No, I don't."

Gasps echoed around the grand cathedral. Her father choked on his wine.

"As a matter of fact," she continued, flipping her curls like it was a runway, "I don't even know this overgrown control freak. But clearly, I don't have the right to decide my own life."

She turned to the priest, eyes wide with faux innocence.

"And let's be honest, you're gonna pronounce us married anyway. So skip the drama. My heels hurt, and I need a drink."

With that, she kicked off her designer stilettos and let out a deep, satisfied breath, smiling like a queen at the crowd-completely ignoring the icy daggers Cassian was shooting her way.

"Mr. Cassian Blackwood, do y-"

"Yes."

Cassian's cold voice sliced through the air like a knife. The priest flinched. Poor guy looked like he wanted to quit and become a farmer.

"I now... pr-pronounce you husband... and w-wife," he stuttered.

---

CASSIAN'S PENTHOUSE

The wedding was over. The chaos, the gasps, the scandalous headlines... all done. Now, they were officially husband and wife.

Daisy stormed into the penthouse, her veil in one hand and her stilettos in the other. She kicked the door shut behind her and turned to see Cassian standing at the bar, calmly pouring himself a drink like they hadn't just caused a social media explosion.

She marched up to him.

"Got your stupid wedding. Happy now?"

Cassian sipped his whiskey, eyes cool, unreadable.

"You said no at the altar."

She smirked. "You said yes anyway."

He stepped closer, towering over her now. "Because I like a challenge. But now that you're mine, we're setting some rules."

Daisy raised an eyebrow. "Rules? What am I-your employee?"

"You could never work for me. You'd burn the office down just to prove a point."

She gave him a wicked grin. "You're not wrong."

Cassian's face hardened just slightly.

"Rule one," he said smoothly, "You will live here. No running back to your father's house or jetting off to another continent without my knowledge."

"Rule two," he continued, circling her slowly, "In public, we play the perfect couple. No tantrums, no outbursts. You wear the ring, smile for the cameras, and stand by my side."

"And rule three-" he stopped in front of her, eyes locked on hers, voice dropping to a low growl, "Don't test my patience. I'm not a man who loses, little angel.".

And rule four_ we are not staying in the same room, don't think about any of such.

Daisy tilted her head. "Cute. My turn."

Cassian raised a brow.

She stepped up to him, toe to toe.

"Rule one," she said mockingly, "I don't take orders. You want a robot bride, go buy one."

"Rule two-I'll wear the ring, but don't expect me to wear your name with pride."

"And rule three-" she leaned in close, her breath tickling his neck, "Don't fall in love with me. It'll be your biggest mistake."

Cassian let out a low laugh. "Oh, sweetheart... we'll see who makes the first mistake."

They stood there, heat and hate mixing in the space between them.

The air was thick with tension. Not the romantic kind. The war kind.

Daisy stepped out of her room in a silk robe, towel-drying her hair. She glanced down the hall and found Cassian standing at the end, shirtless, casually sipping whiskey with his other hand tucked into his pajama pants pocket.

They locked eyes.

"Don't get any ideas," she said coolly.

"I wasn't," he replied just as coldly.

She raised a brow. "Oh? So we're not doing the whole 'we're married so we sleep in the same bed' thing?"

Cassian took a slow sip. "Not unless you want to."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "In your dreams, CEO."

He smirked. "You were in one last night."

She gasped. "Excuse me?!"

"I had a nightmare," he said flatly. "You were in it."

Daisy clutched her chest like he'd just insulted her ancestors. "You arrogant Greek statue of a man."

He turned, heading to his door. "Goodnight, wife."

She flipped him off the moment his back turned. "Goodnight, husband."

BANG! She slammed her bedroom door behind her.

DAISY'S ROOM

She couldn't sleep. Her room was the size of a small castle, draped in luxury, but felt colder than an ice cube in Antarctica.

"Ughhh," she groaned into her pillow. "Why is this bed so soft yet so miserable?"

She rolled over.

Then rolled back.

Then sat up.

Then stomped to the mini-fridge and grabbed a soda. She popped it open and leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

I hate that phycho so much .

Episode 3

The dance

NEXT MORNING – BLACKWOOD PENTHOUSE

Cassian was already seated at the long marble breakfast table, sipping black coffee and scrolling through stock updates on his tablet. He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, no tie, and looked every inch the billionaire menace he was.

Then came the sound of heels.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He didn't look up. Not until the heels stopped right in front of him.

His gaze rose slowly-

And then froze.

Daisy stood there, arms crossed, wearing a dangerously short, tight red dress that clung to her curves ,That can make men fall on their heels , make head turns. It had a deep neckline that left very little to the imagination and a slit so high it was almost illegal.

"Morning," she said sweetly, her lips painted to match the dress. "Hope I didn't overdress... for breakfast."

Cassian's jaw ticked, his eyes darkening just slightly. "Going somewhere?"

"Yep," she replied, popping the 'p' and grabbing a strawberry from the fruit bowl. "Brunch with Mareen. Then maybe some shopping. Then... who knows?"

He set the tablet down slowly. "Not in that dress."

"Oh?" she said innocently, biting into the strawberry. "Is there a problem, husband?"

His voice was low, almost amused. "You're dressed like you're walking into a nightclub at 2 a.m., not a restaurant at 10."

"Good. Then I'm saving time."

He stood, walking toward her, slow and deliberate. "Change."

"No."

Cassian leaned in slightly, his tone soft but firm. "You are my wife now. People will look. Headlines will spin. And I don't share what's mine."

Daisy smirked, stepping even closer until they were practically chest to chest. "News flash, Cassian. I'm not a vase on your shelf. You don't get to decide how I dress."

"You're playing with fire, Daisy."

"And you're flammable," she purred, brushing past him like a storm in heels.

He watched her go.

"Ten minutes," he called out. "Before I send my driver to shadow you."

"I'll wave at the cameras," she shouted back.

Cassian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

God help him-

He was very close to dragging that woman right back to his room.

---

LATER THAT DAY – HIGH-END BRUNCH SPOT,NYC

Daisy sat on the rooftop terrace with Mareen, sipping a mimosa, legs crossed, sunglasses on, looking like a goddess on vacation.

"You really wore that?" Mareen asked, eyes wide with delight.

"I wanted him to choke on his black coffee," Daisy smirked. "Pretty sure he almost did."

Mareen laughed. "You're evil. I love it."

But just as Daisy raised her glass again, she noticed a sleek, black SUV parked across the street. Tinted windows. Engine still running.

Her smirk faded a little.

"Is that...?" Mareen followed her gaze.

"Cassian's driver," Daisy muttered.

"Oh damn. The man's actually tracking you?"

"Like a jealous husband who thinks I'm about to sell the family diamonds."

Suddenly her phone buzzed.

Cassian: Your table has a direct line of sight from the street. Next time, wear something that doesn't make half the city trip over themselves.

Daisy grinned and quickly typed back:

Daisy: Next time, stay home and cry into your spreadsheets little baby.

No response.

"Oh, he's mad," Daisy whispered, gleeful. "This is going to be fun."

---

LATER THAT EVENING – BLACKWOOD PENTHOUSE

Daisy returned home, still glowing from the chaos she caused. She walked into the living room to find Cassian already there, sleeves rolled up, glass of scotch in hand, pacing like a man holding back a storm.

"You enjoyed yourself?" he asked without turning.

"Immensely," she said, tossing her purse on the couch.

"Good," he said, facing her. "Because you've officially declared war."

He walked toward her with slow, quiet intensity.

"You want freedom?" he asked. "Fine. But if we're playing this game, Daisy, you should know-I don't lose."

"Cute," she said, unbothered. "But I don't play by rules I didn't agree to."

Cassian smirked darkly. "Then maybe it's time we rewrite the rules."

He stepped even closer, eyes locked on hers. "From now on, we attend events together. You smile. You act like my wife. And in return... I won't lock you in this penthouse."

"Oh?" she whispered, stepping close enough for their breaths to mix. "And if I decide to be very difficult?"

Cassian leaned in, voice dangerously soft. "Then I'll show you exactly what happens to difficult wives."

Her breath caught for a second-but she didn't back down.

"Promise?" she whispered, smiling sweetly.

Cassian's jaw clenched. "Go to your room, Daisy."

"Which one?" she teased. "Mine? Or yours?"

He stared at her, something burning in his eyes.

She winked and turned away, heading to her room with an extra sway in her hips.

Cassian downed his scotch in one gulp.

This woman would either drive him mad-

Or make him fall to his knees.

--

NEXT MORNING .

The bass of a pop song thumped through the kitchen, echoing off the pristine marble and steel. It was the kind of place meant for quiet breakfasts and cold coffee-but not today.

Daisy was on fire.

Wearing a tiny grey bum short that left very little to the imagination and a cropped white tank that rode up every time she raised her arms, she danced barefoot on the tiled floor, a wooden spoon in one hand and a spatula in the other.

"Alexa, turn it up!" she called, not even caring if the penthouse had an Alexa.

She spun in a circle, shaking her hips to the beat as she stirred the scrambled eggs and flipped bacon like a chef possessed. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, bouncing with every move.

She didn't need Cassian's fancy chefs or his overpriced green smoothies. She needed carbs. And freedom. And maybe just a little bit of fun.

That's when he walked in.

Cassian stood at the edge of the hallway, shirtless, towel draped around his neck, sweat still glistening on his chest from his morning workout. He stopped cold the second he saw her.

Daisy hadn't noticed him yet. She was too busy lip-syncing to the music and wiggling her butt to the beat as she reached up to grab a plate from the shelf-completely unaware of the show she was putting on.

Cassian's eyes narrowed, locked on her curves, the way her shorts hugged her perfectly, the stretch of smooth skin exposed with every movement.

Then she turned.

Their eyes met.

The music kept playing, but everything else went still.

Daisy froze, her hand mid-air, holding a pan lid like a trophy.

"Well, good morning, husband," she said with a sly smile, totally unbothered. "Hope you slept well."

Cassian's voice was hoarse. "What are you wearing?"

"Clothes," she replied innocently, turning back to the stove. "Don't act like you've never seen legs before."

He walked closer, slow, calculated, eyes roaming.

"You're dancing. In that."

She smirked, flipping a pancake. "You act like it's a crime."

"I act like it's a distraction."

She turned, leaned back against the counter, and raised a brow. "Problem?"

Cassian's jaw clenched. "Only if you keep walking around like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want me to lose control."

She laughed, soft and taunting. "Oh, Cassian... if I wanted that, you wouldn't be standing there right now."

Their eyes locked.

Silence stretched between them-thick, hot, electric.

Then Daisy turned back to her eggs, shaking her hips just a little more as the music picked up again.

Cassian muttered something under his breath and walked away, but not before stealing one last glance over his shoulder.

And Daisy?

She smiled to herself, biting back a laugh.

"Round one goes to me," she whispered.

Evening

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the luxurious penthouse. The silence was almost peaceful-until Daisy's bedroom door swung open.

She emerged, stretching like a cat, wearing an oversized white shirt knotted at the waist and, again, her signature bum shorts. Her hair was tousled, her skin glowing, and her energy was loud without a single word.

She yawned dramatically, then sauntered toward the kitchen like she owned the place.

Cassian was already there, dressed in his usual crisp black suit, sipping espresso while scrolling through his phone. His eyes flicked up briefly-and paused.

Daisy didn't greet him. She didn't say a word.

She made herself coffee, humming softly under her breath, ignoring his presence like he was an antique vase in the corner.

Cassian set his cup down with a click. "You're walking around like that again?"

She turned, feigning innocence. "Like what?"

He looked her up and down. "Like you forgot this is a house and not a photoshoot for a risqué magazine."

She smirked, sipping her coffee slowly. "Funny. I thought it was my prison. Might as well look good while serving time."

He stared at her for a moment, jaw tight, then returned to his phone. "Suit yourself."

She leaned on the counter, eyeing him with amusement. "Aw, does the big, bad CEO get distracted that easily?"

He didn't respond.

Episode 4

The gala event 1

CASSIAN'S OFFICE

The city skyline stretched endlessly beyond the glass walls of Cassian's penthouse office, but not even the breathtaking view could distract him today.

He sat behind a sleek black desk, his fingers drumming impatiently against polished wood. Papers lay untouched. His laptop screen blinked with unread emails. A board meeting reminder flashed in the corner.

But Cassian Blackwood-feared CEO, master negotiator, and calculated king of the corporate world-was entirely distracted.

By one person.

Daisy.

The image of her dancing barefoot in the kitchen, bum shorts riding high, shirt tied up and her hips swaying to music he couldn't hear-had tattooed itself into his mind. She hadn't cooked for him. She hadn't even acknowledged him. And yet, she occupied every corner of his thoughts like a haunting.

He scowled and leaned back in his chair.

"This is business," he muttered to himself. "A deal. A contract. Not... whatever this is."

He loosened his tie slightly, annoyed by how tight it suddenly felt.

His phone buzzed.

Marek (his PA):

"Sir, you've got a call with the Singapore investors in five."

Cassian didn't respond right away. He stood, walking to the window, staring out as if the clouds could clear his mind.

She's fire, he thought. Untamed, impulsive... and completely wrong for me.

And yet-he'd never been more intrigued.

This wasn't just about marriage anymore. Not just about control.

It was about the one woman who made the coldest man in New York burn from the inside out.

He returned to his desk, jaw set.

But deep down, he knew-

Daisy White was a storm he had willingly walked into.

CASSIAN'S OFFICE – MIDDAY

Cassian ended the investor call with sharp precision, his voice smooth but clipped as usual. He was a master at negotiation-always calm, always in control.

But as soon as the call ended, he didn't go back to reviewing the quarterly reports or scanning the pending merger files. Instead, he leaned back again, arms folded, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

Why the hell am I still thinking about her?

He had dated models. Been pursued by heiresses. Women bent over backward to impress him. They fawned, submitted, and smiled on cue.

But Daisy?

Daisy White danced around his kitchen in bum shorts, cooked only for herself, and didn't spare him a single look of attention.

She was chaos.

Unpredictable. Rebellious.

And it was driving him insane.

With a frustrated sigh, he pressed the intercom.

"Marek."

"Yes, sir?"

"Clear my afternoon. Push the board meeting to tomorrow."

There was a pause. Marek sounded surprised. "All of it, sir?"

Cassian clenched his jaw. "Yes. All of it."

He stood and reached for his blazer.

.

.

.

BLACKWOOD PENTHOUSE

The elevator chimed softly as Cassian stepped into the penthouse. The silence greeted him first-luxurious, still, almost too perfect.

He dropped his keys on the marble counter, eyes scanning the space like a hunter returning to familiar territory. No sign of Daisy in the living room. But then he heard it-faint music, something upbeat and completely out of place in his cold, orderly world.

He followed the sound.

And there she was.

Daisy. In the kitchen. Again.

She was putting away groceries in a cropped tank and the tiniest pair of shorts he'd ever seen-bare legs on full display, hair tied up in a messy bun, humming off-key, and swaying her hips like the kitchen was her personal runway.

She didn't see him. Not yet.

She popped a cherry tomato in her mouth and spun around dramatically with a wooden spoon, singing into it like it was a mic.

Cassian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, lips curling slightly.

He didn't interrupt.

He watched.

God, she was trouble. A walking contradiction. She looked like a dream and acted like a storm.

Finally, she turned-eyes widening when she saw him.

The spoon froze mid-air.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. "You auditioning for MasterChef or The Voice?"

Daisy blinked. "You're home early."

"I rescheduled my day," he said smoothly, walking into the kitchen, "to see what else you'd get up to while pretending I don't exist."

She narrowed her eyes and tossed the spoon in the sink. "Don't flatter yourself. I was cooking. For me."

"I noticed," he said, eyeing the single plate of pasta on the counter. "Very considerate."

"I wasn't trying to be."

Cassian stepped closer, his voice low. "Good. Because I don't need considerate."

Their eyes locked. The air thickened.

Daisy swallowed. "Then what do you need?"

He leaned in, so close his breath tickled her ear. "I need a challenge. And you, Mrs. Blackwood, are the most tempting one I've ever had."

Her heart skipped.

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.

"Next time you cook, make enough for two."

She smirked. "Next time, cook it yourself."

And just like that, she grabbed her plate, bumped him with her ass, and strutted out of the kitchen.

Cassian chuckled, rubbing his jaw.

Yep.

She was going to be the death of him.

And he was starting to enjoy it.

BLACKWOOD PENTHOUSE – NIGHT

Cassian sat alone at the bar in the living room, a half-empty glass of scotch in his hand, his mind replaying the image of Daisy dancing in the kitchen. The way her hips swayed. The way she looked at him-defiant and unbothered, like she hadn't just flipped his whole day upside down.

He should've been annoyed.

Instead, he was intrigued.

She was unlike any woman he'd ever dealt with. No pretending. No polished socialite act. Just raw, untamed fire-and she didn't care if it burned him.

His phone buzzed.

Marek (Cassian's Assistant):

"Board rescheduled to Friday. Also, Blackwood Corp's PR team wants to confirm your wife's appearance for the upcoming charity gala."

He stared at the message, then typed back with a small smirk.

Cassian:

"She'll be there. Just warn the photographers."

-

DAISY'S ROOM

Daisy sat on her bed in a silk robe, legs crossed, a bowl of pasta beside her as she scrolled through her phone.

She got up, paced to the window, and looked out at the glittering skyline of New York.

This was her life now-married to a cold, handsome CEO who liked mind games and war.

But he wasn't the only one who could play.

She turned to her mirror, tied her robe tighter, and whispered to herself:

"Let the real game begin."

-

THE NEXT MORNING

Cassian was already dressed in a fresh black suit when Daisy came downstairs wearing a skintight wine-red dress with a slit that nearly reached her thigh.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You're dressed for wat?"

She picked up a croissant from the counter and took a bite. ". Brunch."

He stepped closer, fixing his cufflinks. "With who?", staring at her boobs.

"Not that it's your business, and keep your eyes off my chest, with Mareen. My best friend. Remember her?"

Cassian narrowed his eyes. Was not staring at those little thing, have seen better."You're not leaving without a driver."

Then stop staring at mine jerk.She scoffed. "You planning to babysit me now?"

"No. Just making sure my wife doesn't make headlines for the wrong reasons."

She leaned in with a wicked grin. "Then maybe you should've married someone boring."

He stared her down, his voice dark and low.

"I didn't want boring. I wanted fire."

Their eyes locked.

Silent war.

Then she winked and walked out, leaving him standing there.

Cassian smiled to himself.