Chapter 180

Nathaniel snatched his leather-bound journal. With deliberate strokes, he penned "The Art of Winning Vivian Back" in bold letters.

Oliver choked on his whiskey, barely suppressing a laugh.

"Nathaniel Blackwood, the so-called Ice King of Wall Street." He wiped his mouth with a smirk. "Who knew you'd turn into such a lovesick puppy?"

"Love requires strategy, not impulse." Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "I'm compiling data points. Your advice will undergo rigorous analysis before implementation."

"You're treating this like a hostile takeover!" Oliver's glass hit the marble counter with a clink. "Since when does courtship need spreadsheets?"

Nathaniel's steel-gray eyes flashed. "Everything worth doing requires precision. Fail me, and your startup's IPO gets buried."

Oliver's amusement vanished. The man wasn't joking.

A slow whistle escaped him. Vivian Lockhart had really gotten under Nathaniel's skin. He'd underestimated the heiress—what he'd assumed was demure innocence now seemed like calculated resistance.

"Alright, listen close." Oliver straightened his tie. "With your... unique circumstances, we'll need nuclear-level tactics."

Nathaniel's pen hovered expectantly.

"Rule one: Bombardment." Oliver gestured like a general. "Flood her notifications—morning coffee selfies, lunchtime memes, midnight 'accidental' voice notes."

"Absurd." Nathaniel's pen snapped. "I run a Fortune 500 company."

"Then enjoy dying alone." Oliver shrugged. "Even CEOs piss. Text her then."

The silence stretched.

"...She blocked me."

Oliver's laughter echoed through the penthouse. "The mighty Nathaniel Blackwood? Blocked?" He clutched his stomach. "This is priceless!"

A crystal decanter shattered against the wall.

"Fix. It." Nathaniel's growl could frost glass.

Wiping tears away, Oliver composed himself. "Relax. We'll escalate to Rule Two: Strategic Incursions." He leaned in. "Where does she get her lattes?"

Nathaniel's eyes darkened with understanding.

"Her yoga studio's schedule?" Oliver continued. "Charity galas? That insufferable cat café?" A wicked grin spread. "We'll make 'coincidences' your new religion."

The journal's pages rustled as Nathaniel scribbled furiously. Outside, Manhattan's skyline glittered—unaware of the corporate titan currently plotting romantic warfare with the intensity of a military campaign.

Oliver watched with morbid fascination. This would either be legendary... or a disaster of epic proportions. Either way, he needed popcorn.