The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button Novels & Stories

Glancing at her small hand which was so white that even the vessels could be seen clearly, Benjamin smiled slightly. The assistant opened his eyes wide in surprise. Did Benjamin get possessed by something that day? Why was he so strange? He didn't like to be too close to others. Except for his two good friends, he had never treated others so intimately. Moreover, it was said that he was a gay... But at this moment! The girl grabbed his hand, but he didn't shake it off with an unhappy face. Instead, he smiled? "Look! Am I right?" Evelyn pointed to the car and said, "There is no trace at all!"

she added, glancing at her colleagues to emphasize the gravity of the situation. Hunter leaned forward, his intense gaze fixed on the screen, where Trisha and Joyril had displayed images of Benjamin’s friend and the mafia they had crossed. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the monitor, as Hunter's mind raced through the information presented to him. Benjamin had always been an artist, someone immersed in creativity and far removed from the intricacies of business dealings. It was no surprise that he’d been duped—he lacked the savvy to navigate the complexities of the trade his friend had led him into. What puzzled Hunter, however, was Benjamin’s initial decision to enter the bu

His eyes were clear and his skin was porcelain-like, which he shaved daily and used as much cream as he could manage throughout the day. He was trained in fashion and worked at a magazine. Ben was a woman who was born by accident into a man's body. It was the one that God, when he went to put it in the body, ended up getting confused and putting it in the wrong one. And my friend to fight. Although I'd been with Salma most of my life, Ben had my heart and was much wiser in advice. Once the movie was over, Ben reassured me about the illness. Hearing him speak so calmly and simply did me good.

"I'm in my seventies, and I've seen a lot. There is a lot left unknown in the world out there, and I know I'm too old to find out what they are. However, I do believe that there are things I don't know of. More importantly, anyone dying would want a chance to live on. I'm no exception." "That's very honest of you. Let's begin, then," Wilbur said smilingly. Benjamin smiled as he stripped off his shirt to reveal a torso covered in scars. There were more than ten scars from knife wounds and a few more from bullets. There wasn't a single part of his body that was intact. It was a terrifying sight. Wilbur sighed and uttered, "You've worked really hard." "Oh, it's nothing. I was just making a livi

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

He saw Dominique’s mother in the hallway, and when their eyes met for the second time, there was an explosion of surprise. Antonella stopped in front of a closed door and, looking into his eyes, said: “Go in,” she said, her breathing heavy. Benjamim frowned, hesitating to follow her instructions. Slowly, he placed his hand on the cold doorknob and turned it. The door opened cautiously because he feared what he would find in that room. Something made him pause. It took him a moment to notice the small figure of the boy lying with his head turned to the other side, eyes closed. He was so small and looked so fragile, surrounded by all those wires connected to so many machines.

Until he got to one file. Employee logins. Someone had accessed Amara’s medical records two weeks ago. From his internal server. His jaw clenched. He scanned the terminal ID. Ben. Ben was one of his oldest hires. Discreet. Loyal. At least, that’s what Liam believed. He clicked through a few more folders. Hidden within the metadata were text logs between Ben and an encrypted number. The last message chilled him: "She’s still pregnant. He hasn’t figured it out yet. But he’s close. I’ll stall if needed.”

My lips trembled as I stepped into Benjamin’s office. I rushed toward the desk, ducking under it and pulling the drawer open—and there it was: the metal contraption with numbers attached to it. Fuck, the passcode. We had never conversed that long for me to know when he was born. But knowing Benjamin, he wasn’t dumb enough to use his birthday... he would use something more... sentimental. “Benjamin, what is it?” I whispered, staring at the numbers. I didn’t know how many tries I had, and I didn’t want to waste them.

After a while, Isabella turned back and asked calmly, "Where have you been all these years, and how did you get involved with the Andersons?" Benjamin snapped to his senses, nodded, and said, "Back then, I was shot. I didn't wake up until about three days later. Your father came to find me…" Ten years earlier… During the summer after graduating high school, the 18-year-old Isabella went shopping at a mall with her sister, while the 17-year-old Benjamin followed behind like a tagalong. Because the weather was too hot, Katherine went to buy drinks, leaving Isabella and Benjamin waiting nearby.