I've lived in the Harrington house since I was seven. My mother died pushing Lucas out of the way of a car, and he's paid for everything since. Tomorrow we're supposed to get engaged. Last night I found a photo online. A girl wearing the ring I designed — nine drafts, months of all-nighters, the ring Lucas swore the jeweler lost. I went to the restaurant where she was meeting him. The door wasn't latched. His friends were calling me a stray the housekeeper left behind. Lucas laughed and told them I was more like a pet. Cheap to keep.