Delete Instagram Account Permanently Link

My heart skipped a beat when I turned around to see a handsome stranger standing across the busy room. Tall and confident, he oozed a mysterious aura that drew my attention right away. I felt a bolt of electricity run through my veins as our eyes briefly connected. It seemed as if an unseen link connected us, drawing me towards him in an unexplainable way. My heart was pounding, and a warm flush spread across my cheeks. This mystery guy affected me.

For eight long years, Bryan Millan and I were married, but you’d never have known it by looking at his life. He never once acknowledged our relationship in public. Not a single post, not a single mention of me on his social media. Then came our anniversary. The day that was supposed to be about us. Instead, Bryan made an announcement on his Instagram account—just not the one I expected. There he was, hand in hand with his assistant, her draped in a wedding dress. The caption read: [When you're in love, you want the whole world to know.] The comments flooded in. [Bryan finally got married!] [Congrats! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness together!] In that moment, I could no longer lie to myself. Bryan wasn't reserved. He just never loved me. So, I decided to let go. But he wasn't ready for that. He clung to me, desperate now. But I pried his hands off and laughed—a real, genuine laugh, the kind that comes from somewhere deep inside when you realize you're finally free. Then, I looked him straight in the eye and said the words I'd been holding in, "Don't beg me to come back. Because now that I don't love you, I've never felt better."

On my birthday, Heather Pond’s lover posted a sonogram on his social media account and captioned it, [We’re going to be parents!] I commented, [Congratulations. You can have the baby cot from my place.] The next second, Heather called me to give me a warning. “Brandon Smith is dying. I’ll come back to you once I give birth to his child. Please don’t trigger him any further!” I remained calm and collected when I served her the divorce papers. Then, I packed my bags and went on a vacation in Europe.

The narrative starts a year ago. When it was discovered that she was the daughter of a noble traitor, the imperial family issued an order for her execution. Numerous aristocrats cheered consequently, including the true daughter of the Lafera family and her beloved former fiancé Casimir Romana. Formerly a beautiful lady and crown princess, Solstice Lafera was imprisoned and given the death penalty. She knew she would die permanently if she was put to death. Fortunately, she was reborn three significant years before her execution. This time, can she accomplish her goals with the aid of fate?

Brooke Johnson, is about to get married to the love of her life. On her wedding day, Brooke finds her soon-to-be husband, locked the bathroom with his secretary, and dumps him in front of everyone. Brooke feels betrayed. In a small town, the word travels fast and soon she finds that instead of her ex, it's she who's facing the backlash from the townsfolk. She's facing trouble on multiple fronts, when a billionaire business tycoon, Nathan Bradford, barges into the town on account of personal business and hires Brooke to be his architect for a project. She knows there's more to the man that meets the eye. But it doesn't stop Brooke from falling head over heels for a man who's already taken. Where will this journey take Brooke? Nathan Bradford is a handsome billionaire, looking to find love. When a business deal lands him in a small Texas town named Twin Peaks, he finds that the town has more to offer than just business. He stumbles into the girl of his dreams and falls for her instantly. The only problem is she has a past that she's still recovering from. The question before Nathan is how should he make her see that not every man is like her ex? Greg Wilson, the sole heir of a big business empire and an arrogant, self obsessed man is jealous of the budding friendship that is blossoming between Brooke and Nathan. He's upset that someone is trying to take away what he considers belongs to him. He vows to get Brooke back because he always gets what he wants. What happens when Greg's obsession reaches the boiling point and he threatens Brooke's life? How will Brooke navigate her life in middle of this crisis and will she get her happy ending?

On the day of my mate-bonding ceremony, my parents suddenly brought my mate home and told me the marking ceremony that day would be with someone else. “Your sister was poisoned by wolfsbane. There's no cure, and her dying wish is to become David’s mate.” “You’re her older sister. Can’t you be kind and help her out?” My mate also tried to persuade me. “Don’t worry, it’s just for show. After she dies, we’ll still be each other’s one and only.” Still, I refused. However, my parents forced me to drink a potion that blocked my mind link, tied me up, and threw me into the silver mine behind our villa. “We’ll untie you once the ceremony goes smoothly,” they said. But soon after they left, I was attacked by a vicious rogue wolf. After endless torment, I was killed. It was only when my body started rotting that they remembered I was still bound in the mine.

James wasn't your typical writer. He gave a new meaning to Copywriting. His life wasn't great but he was doing well for himself; six figures in his bank account, and a hot neighbour that he had more than one wet dream about. His life was great until he died of course. Now he's stuck in another world with a secret mission. He's ready to spin another new meaning to copywriting.

"Ms. Rowe, are you certain you want to delete all identity records? Once they're erased, you'll be completely removed from the system. No one will be able to find you again." Eva Rowe pauses for a moment before nodding with quiet resolve. "Yes. I want to disappear from this world. I want to make sure no one can ever find me." Two seconds of silence follow on the other end, as if they're giving her one last chance to reconsider. "Understood, Ms. Rowe. The wipeout protocol will be completed within 14 days. By then, you'll be officially 'dead' in all databases. Please make the necessary arrangements." With that, the call ends. Eva books a one-way ticket to Felnor, scheduled for 14 days later. Then, she turns off her phone, watching as the screen goes dark. She stands by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the endless city lights, and lets out a soft, cold laugh. She is no longer anyone's Eva.

I was six months pregnant when my husband, Michael Greene, shoved me off the edge of a yacht during a birthday party. Why? Because Lily Clement, his childhood sweetheart, had fallen into the water, and apparently, the yacht was too small for all three of us. After being pulled from the ocean, suffering from hypothermia and shock, I was taken to the hospital. Doctors determined that emergency surgery was necessary and required a family member's consent. However, no matter how many times they called, Michael never picked up. At the same time, lying in a hospital bed, I scrolled through Lily’s Instagram and saw the post she shared just hours earlier. It was a photo of the two of them, soaked but clinging to each other like lovers out of a movie. "Sometimes love comes from the most unexpected places. Thank you for always being there for me—quietly, selflessly, unshakably." That was all I needed. The day I was discharged, I left Michael a signed divorce agreement. If he wanted to be her knight in shining armor, I’d let him.

On my birthday, the dining table was loaded with all my favorites. My mom had been cooking and baking the entire afternoon, insisting everything be perfect for when Mike got home from work so we could celebrate together. But then, he called and said his first love had been drugged at a bar, and he had to go help her. I stopped him and begged him not to go. Mike snapped at me. "Jesus, Em, don’t pull this jealous wife crap. She’s alone, defenseless, and unconscious—I can't let some random dude take advantage of her!" My mother heard those words and was so enraged that she had a heart attack. She died on the spot. Just like that, my mom died on my birthday. I called Mike, asking him to attend my mom's funeral. But before he could reply, I saw Cathy Miller's latest Instagram post, captioned: [Mikey… after all these years, it was always you.] Mike had liked it. My thumb moved before my brain caught up, typing out the only words that mattered: [A homewrecker and a lying bastard. Hope you rot together.]