Debbie Ford watched the letter slowly burn down to embers.Ignoring the danger, she grabbed a coat to beat at the flames until they died.In front of thousands of livestream viewers, she teared up and shoved me onto the white rose petals-covered sofa.“Charles, what on earth are you doing? Are you toying with me?”Her manager, Ken Zimmerman, shut the livestream off in a panic. I said nothing.She stood so close that I could smell the lingering cologne on her clothes. It was the same one George Brookes always wore.I suddenly remembered the time when she was still working as an extra on movie sets after we finished college. She had held my hand and told me very seriously, “Charles, when I win the Best Actress award, I’ll marry you, and we’ll have the grandest wedding ever.”When she actually did win the Best Actress award, she changed the deal.She told me to propose to her publicly during livestreams, and only after I had proposed to her a hundred times would she give up her
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