All Chapters of The One He Chose: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The Billionaire’s SearchDamien Dowell’s office stood high above the city, walls of glass reflecting the skyline. The world moved like ants, cars crawling, people bustling, but inside the room, a fire brewed.The CEO’s desk was littered with files, satellite maps, and a tablet flashing red pings from various trackers. Damien stood by the window, his jaw tight, his phone pressed to his ear.“Find them,” he ordered. “I don’t care how long it takes, or how many men you burn out in the process. I want every lead, every whisper, every shadow they left behind. Do you understand?”“Yes, sir,” came the voice of his head of security. “We’ve expanded our reach beyond the city. We’re running searches on transport logs, rental agreements, new bank accounts—everything. But Henry and Evelyn covered their tracks. Too well.”Damien’s grip on the phone tightened. He turned away from the window, pacing. His shining shoes clicked against marble. “No one disappears without leaving a trail. Everyone has t

A Mother’s RestlessnessThe days in Greyhaven passed with deceptive quiet. The small apartment Henry had rented above a bakery on a cobbled street. The scent of bread and butter drifted up through the floorboards each morning, mingling with the light that filtered through the curtains.To an outsider, it might have seemed peaceful—ordinary even. A mother and son living simply, away from the noise of power and politics.But Evelyn was restless.She had not stepped beyond the apartment door in weeks. Not to the bakery, not to the corner grocer, not even to the little chapel whose bells chimed just down the lane. Henry insisted it was safer this way. Safer if their faces were not seen, if their names were not whispered, if the world continued to think they were ghosts.Evelyn had agreed, of course. She always agreed when it came to protecting her son. But agreeing and enduring were different things. And now, sitting at the window day after day, watching life in the streets on, she felt t

Fingerprints EverywhereIn only a few months, Henry’s name had become an echo in every corridor of the company. Where once he had been just another face behind a desk, now his presence was undeniable. His ideas—bold but practical—began to appear in the reports presented to the board. His suggestions, once whispered to director, were now quoted in meetings as though they were commandments.The older employees muttered about his rise, but no one could deny the results. A distribution problem that had plagued the company for three years was solved in two weeks after Henry drafted a new strategy. A failing contract with one of their international partners was revived after he spotted a loophole and proposed a fairer renegotiation. Even the company’s internal morale shifted, because Henry carried himself not as a superior but as a comrade.People began saying:“If Henry touched it, it works.”“If Henry suggested it, it will succeed.”Henry’s fingerprints were everywhere, and he didn’t even

The invitation letter arrived like a whisper of destiny, carried not in the hands of a courier but slipped into the morning delivery stack. Henry noticed it immediately, the envelope heavier than the others, sealed with embossed lettering that shimmered inside the office. Across its face, the words were commanding:“Exclusive Invitation: International Economic Conference, Milan.”Henry held the envelope tightly, as though it were alive. Milan? A name that hit with prestige and power. It was not just a city—it was a stage where the world’s most powerful played their games of ambition. Billionaires gathered there to strike deals, to display influence, to prove themselves before the eyes of their peers. Contracts were signed not in silence but with pride, celebrated like royal decrees.For a moment, Henry simply stared at it, his breath caught. To be entrusted with delivering such a letter—it meant something. The company’s fate often hinged on these gatherings. For someone like him, who

Preparing for MilanHenry stared at the embossed letter once more, as though the invitation might dissolve in his hands if he didn’t read it carefully enough. Milan. The word carried a weight that pressed on his chest and lifted him at the same time. For years, he and his mother had struggled to survive on the outskirts of everything—of society, of the pack, of prosperity. And now, he was standing at the center of something vast and powerful.The board had spoken. After a long deliberation, they had chosen him—Henry, once the boy cast into exile—to prepare for and represent the company at the Milan conference.The responsibility was staggering. It wasn’t just about attending. It was about preparing the groundwork: arranging logistics, drafting speeches, studying potential partners, and most of all, carrying the company’s image on his young shoulders. Harold Walker, the General Manager, had clapped Henry on the back in the boardroom.“You’ve got this,” he said with the sweet smile. “I