How To Delete A Ficbook Account?

"Sign it." He barked, before motioning Andrew, his butler over and handing him the briefcase. "What is it?" I murmured, retracting the paperwork from the envelope. The words "Divorce Agreement" were written vividly in block letters on the heading. My legs weakened as a mix of trepidation, befuddlement, and shock engulfed me. Fernando wanted a divorce which meant that I was now officially doomed. + Helen Crawford is the demure and petite wife of Fernando Alvarez. All that changes one day, when Fernando comes home from work one day, flings a brown envelope at her, and asks for a divorce, simply because his one true love is now back in town. Betrayed, she signs it without a squeak and walks out of his life forever, unknowingly pregnant. However, karma soon strikes and Fernando realizes that he made a grave mistake of divorcing Helen for his ex-girlfriend. But by then, many years have passed and Helen has already told their son that he is dead. Will it be too late for Fernando to rectify his errors, and get his family back?

My CEO wife, Vivian Lynch, suffers from chronic insomnia and can only fall asleep with the pillow mists I make. At our seventh wedding anniversary dinner, her male best friend, Earl Cain, pours a basin of hot water onto the old cypress tree in the backyard. I rush to save the tree in tears. Earl gets on his knees and apologizes, "I'm sorry, Allen. I did not know that you use this tree's leaves to make the pillow mists." Vivian comforts him gently and orders her men to tie me to the trunk of the tree. She says with a scoff, "If this tree is so precious, then you can spend your life guarding it!" After I hurt my hands from this ordeal, the first thing I do is to demand a divorce. On one night a month later, Vivian, who is unable to sleep, goes to the backyard and sees the withered old cypress tree there.

After failing my mission, I was about to be erased by the system—completely wiped from this world. In the final twenty-four hours before my deletion, I agreed to donate a kidney to my younger sister. My husband, overjoyed, held me tightly and said he would not divorce me anymore. When my sister stole my design draft, I voluntarily admitted I was the plagiarist. My parents nodded in satisfaction, saying I had finally become sensible. At last, I became the good wife and good daughter they had always wanted. But later, when they saw my corpse, they all lost their minds.

As the male lead, Henry Johnston, forces himself on me, a row of comments suddenly appears before my eyes. "Henry is about to misunderstand and think Aria drugged him! The angst is about to begin!" "I'm thrilled just thinking about Henry regretting dearly after Aria dies!" "Keep up the act, Henry. After she dies, you'll be hugging her corpse and crying every day." That is when I realize that I am the tragic female lead in a story where I am destined to be tormented until I die. The readers treat my death as a highlight to push the plot forward. They are counting down to my death. As I look at Henry, who is panting on top of me, anger courses through me. I grab a table lamp and smash it into him, killing him on the spot. Who says that the one who dies in a toxic romance story must always be the female lead?

At my wedding to my childhood friend, Mason Rivers, a stream of floating comments suddenly appeared in front of my eyes. [LMAO, supporting character still doesn’t know the groom is a stand-in! The real male lead, Mason Rivers, is at the hospital with the fragile, sweet female!] [It doesn’t matter who the groom is. He only agreed to the marriage to keep his company afloat. This story is about the childhood sweetheart losing to the girl who came later.] [In the end, the supporting character gets completely ruined by the male lead. I almost feel bad for her.] I hid the shock in my eyes and pretended not to know anything as I finished the ceremony. I didn’t want to be the stepping stone for their love, the disposable extra who dies a tragic death. If he didn’t want to marry me, then I’d turn this act into something real and marry someone else instead.

In the three years since I became Zander's mate, I've tried to kill myself ninety-nine times. Kidnapped by a rival pack in my youth, years of torture nearly destroyed me. I clawed my way back to the Crescent Moon Pack, only to find my place had been taken by an adopted daughter, Vivian. My Beta parents doted on her, and my fated mate—the Alpha himself—had eyes only for her. I begged them, told them my kidnapping and my suicide attempts weren't accidents, but all I ever heard was: "Ember, you're delusional. You just wandered off and got lost." "You tried to drown yourself in the river." The people closest to me, and not one of them believed me. Until the ninety-ninth time. Another "suicide." When I woke up three days later, I rubbed my aching head. My eyes were vacant, my own gaze foreign to me. I had forgotten who I was, forgotten the humiliation I'd endured, forgotten the desperate girl who had thrown away her dignity for a scrap of her Alpha's affection. At the pack ceremony, while everyone waited for me to fawn pathetically over Zander, a single tear slid down my cheek for reasons I couldn't comprehend. I wiped it away and, under the shocked stares of the entire pack, announced calmly: "Zander," my voice was steady. "I don't love you anymore. So I, Ember of the Crescent Moon Pack, hereby reject you as my mate." "This little act again?" Zander sneered, his eyes glinting with the same casual contempt they always held for me. But he didn't know. This time, I was leaving him for good. It wasn't until I vanished completely that the ones who'd never believed me were the ones who truly went mad.