Novelas y relatos de The Benjamin Button

Benjamin grumbled. He was ill-tempered and impatient when his illness attacked him. His hands were shaking and he couldn't properly walk. That's the reason why he looked for a doctor who could prescribe him some medicine and who could check his status from time to time. So, when Eve took a holiday after being fired by Albert, she saw Benjamin's ad on the net and applied right away. Graduating as a doctor with flying colors and at an early age, she impressed Benjamin upon seeing her. "Here, Señor!" Mateo gave him two white pills and he took them both in one go.

At the very least, Benjamin must have dealt with people from the underground world before. As far as I knew, though my information was limited, Benjamin had lived comfortably in Asia with his parents. A wealthy life, far removed from the dark world. Something felt off. There was something not right about Benjamin’s attitude. “I’m not looking for trouble,” Benjamin said. “I came because I thought, why wait until tomorrow when I can see Miss Anna today?” “By coming here, you are looking for trouble, dude,” Nathaniel snapped. “Alright then. I’ll leave now.” Benjamin looked at me and smiled. “I came here to show my sincerity, Miss Anna. Anytime you need me, you can reach out, and I’ll be waiting

the automated voice announced. “What?!” Benjamin exclaimed. “You wanted to trick me out of my money, didn’t you?” I said. “That’s not possible. Swipe it again,” Benjamin said. The attendant did just that. “Eighty dollars,” the automated voice said again. “That’s not… No, something must be wrong with your machine,” Benjamin said. “I assure you our machine works perfectly,” the attendant said. “Try hers again,” Benjamin said. I allowed it. “Three hundred million.” Benjamin slumped on his chair. He checked his phone and blood drained from his face. He looked up, sweaty and almost defeated. “Give me some time. Some time please,” he said.

On the day my adoptive father, Claude Bolton, is buried, my biological parents, along with the fake heiress, Gwen Walton, force their way into the funeral hall to pressure me into signing a statement of forgiveness. They say Gwen is about to be recommended for graduate school, so she can't afford to have a disciplinary record for driving a mechanic to his death. My biological mother, Lorna Pollard, holds my hand and cries. "Claude is already dead. Don't ruin Gwen too." My biological father, Joseph Walton, presses the pen into my palm. "The dead shouldn't stand in the way of the living." Gwen kneels in front of the casket, crying pitifully. "Ada, I'm sorry. I didn't know Mr. Bolton wou

“She’s the reason I agreed to come at all. She saw the exhibition poster and informed me that if I didn’t at least look at the blue ones, I was failing as a parent.” Cathrene felt the unexpected pull of genuine conversation — not networking, not polite survival, but something simpler. “And what’s the verdict? Are the blue ones worth it?” “This one is,” he said. “I’m Benjamin. Benjamin Ward.” “Cathrene Ashford.” If he recognized the name from business pages or society mentions, he did not show it. He only nodded once, as if accepting a plain fact, and returned his attention to the painting for another moment before speaking again.

Cheryl paused, neither advancing nor retreating. She spoke first, her expression hardening, and her voice sharp as she questioned, "What exactly are you trying to do, Benjamin?" Benjamin stopped just two steps away, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his forearms. Instead of answering her directly, his gaze lingered on her tightly pressed lips. In a calm, almost matter-of-fact tone, as if he were stating something mundane, he said, "Picking you up after work."

Ben noticed Dean's reaction and flashed a warm smile, extending his hand toward him. "Hello, Dean, I’m Benjamin Winston." Dean’s body stiffened slightly, a wave of unfamiliarity and unease washing over him, making it feel like he could hardly breathe. His eyes instinctively flickered over Ben, but then quickly dropped to the floor as he struggled to figure out how to respond. The memories of the past surged within him, and he couldn’t help but question if he was truly ready to face these people. Though he tried to steady his breathing, a sharp sense of caution kept prickling at him, urging him to be on guard.

Rebellion tasted delicious. Benjamin emerged late afternoon, looking drained. The sharp suit couldn’t hide the shadows under his eyes. He didn’t head for the exit. He walked straight to my pod. "Ready?" "For what? More thrilling paperwork?" "Home." He said it like it was something personal, like the only safe place left. The drive back to the penthouse was silent. Tense. Benjamin stared out the window, lost in a maze of corporate intrigue and murder plots. I stared at the back of the driver’s head, wondering if he had access to the brakes.

I walked right past them. My eyes didn't flinch. My steps didn't break. I didn't smile. I just walked with my head held high, heart steady. Let them watch. Let them feel the heat of the fire they tried to start. At the end of the aisle, Benjamin stood on the platform, waiting. He wore a black tailored suit, a sharp white shirt beneath. No tie. Just clean and calm like always. But his eyes... His eyes were different today. They weren't just calm. They were full.

When Anthea didn't back off from the staring contest, he gave up and looked away first. "Likewise, Ms. Morin." Benjamin, as usual, was quick to get a grip on his emotions before greeting her back like a professional. He was a businessman after all. His voice seemed to snap Camila and Sarah back to reality too. Camila put on a fake smile before opening her mouth.