"Mm." His tone leveled out, taking on that familiar, condescending edge. "Tessa, stop sending me this kind of stuff. I won't have many chances to wear sneakers once my internship starts. If you really want to give me something, make it practical."

"For example?"

"A luxury watch. Or the newest iPhone. Things that match my status. I need to look presentable when I meet clients."

My grip tightened on the phone until the plastic creaked.

Status?

He was a graduate student who hadn't even earned his degree yet, and he was lecturing me about status?

No wonder he'd called the limited-edition Air Jordans "childish." This was what he'd been waiting for all along.

I suddenly recalled his reaction three days ago. When I sent him the screenshot of the order confirmation, he'd only replied with a lackluster "oh."

At the time, I assumed he was busy.

Now I realized the truth: he was just disappointed he couldn't flip them for a high enough profit.

"You're right," I said slowly, forcing my voice steady. "You are about to enter the workforce. You need decent gear to look the part."

Aiden perked up immediately. "Exactly! I knew you'd understand. Actually, I've been eyeing a Longines. It's a little over a thousand. If you—"

I cut him off.

"That's why I stuffed a watch in the shoebox. A classic Patek Philippe. Didn't you see it?"

Dead silence.

The only sound was his breathing—rapid and shallow.

Then his voice cracked, pitching high with panic. "What?"

"A Patek Philippe," I said, keeping my tone innocent. "Hidden at the very bottom, wrapped in black velvet. You didn't open it? I put a handwritten letter in there too."

"I—" He stammered, the arrogance gone. "You put a watch... inside the shoebox?"

"Yeah." I let out a soft sigh. "If I'd known you didn't like the shoes, I would've just given you the watch. It was so expensive... my heart actually hurt when I swiped my card."

A dull thud echoed through the line—a fist slamming against a table.

Then a woman's low, whining voice drifted through. "What are you doing? Why are you losing your temper all of a sudden?"

Aiden lowered his voice, but the urgency was unmistakable. "You were the one who wanted that designer bag! That's why I rushed to sell the shoes! Now look what happened—we lost a fortune!"

The girl scoffed. "I told you those shoes were limited edition. If you held onto them, the price would go up. You were the one who insisted on selling immediately."

"If I didn't sell them now, how would I get money in time for your birthday?!"

I pretended I hadn't heard their frantic whispers and injected concern into my voice.

"Aiden? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"It's nothing." His voice was dry, strangled. "Tessa, what you just said... exactly how much is that watch worth?"

"Over fifty thousand, I think," I said lightly. "I originally planned to trade in my car for a new one, but then I thought about you. When you start interviewing, you need a good watch to command respect. So I bought it."

"Fifty... thousand?" His voice began to tremble. "Where did you get that kind of money?"

"My year-end bonus." I let myself sound slightly aggrieved. "My project did really well this year. Sixty thousand. I used almost all of it for your watch."

"You—" He gasped. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise." I paused, then let my voice spike with manufactured panic. "Why are you asking like this? Aiden... is the watch gone?"

"I... I might have just missed it..." He was speaking incoherently now. "I haven't looked through the shoebox carefully..."

"Hurry and look for it!" I urged. "That's a classic model. Even secondhand, it resells for thirty or forty thousand! If it's lost, I'll literally die!"

I sent him the photo of the Patek Philippe along with a picture of the boutique receipt—images I'd prepared beforehand.

"Look, this model really suits you. It looks a bit mature, but you can wear it for decades."

Aiden didn't respond.

I could only hear his heavy, labored breathing, and in the background, the soft, frantic voice of the other girl trying to comfort him.

Silence stretched on the line before Aiden finally choked out a response, his voice raspy with suppressed panic.

"Tess, something urgent just came up. I have to go."

The line went dead. Almost instantly, a notification pinged from my Mercari app.

Buyer: "Hey! Are you there? It's urgent!"

Buyer: "Do you still have the shoes you just bought? Don't open the box! I'll pay extra to buy them back! $1,000? $2,000? Name your price!"

Buyer: "Please!"

I took my time, typing out a slow, deliberate response.

Me: "Just finished dinner. Was about to open it. Why?"

The reply came instantly.

Buyer: "Don't open it! There's something extremely personal inside!"

Me: "Like what?"

The typing indicator pulsed for a long time. Finally, a paragraph appeared.

Buyer: "Those shoes were actually a New Year's gift from my girlfriend. I forgot her handwritten letter is still inside the box. It's not worth any money, but it means the world to me. If she finds out I sold the shoes along with the letter, she'll dump me for sure. Please, do a good deed. Send them back. I'll give you $1,500, okay?"

I stared at the words "handwritten letter" and let out a cold laugh.

First, he claimed a friend gave them to him. Now, a girlfriend. He lied as easily as he breathed.

I decided to let him sweat and didn't reply. As expected, his anxiety spiked.

Buyer: "Why aren't you answering? I said I'd add money!"

Buyer: "Give me your address. I'll come pick it up right now!"

Buyer: "If you don't reply, I'm calling the police!"

The police?

I selected a screenshot from our earlier conversation—the one where he arrogantly declared, Whether the item is good or bad is none of my business—and hit send.

Me: "Call the police? You said it yourself: once sold, it has nothing to do with you. Now you regret it? Selling a gift your girlfriend gave you... you must be desperate for cash. I honestly feel sorry for that girl."

The typing bubble flickered on and off for a solid minute. He was struggling. Finally, he forced out a single sentence.

Buyer: "How much do you want to return it?"

I typed: "Five thousand dollars."

I expected him to lose his mind. Curses, threats, aggressive bargaining.

Instead, the response came within a second.

Buyer: "Deal! Five thousand!"

I raised an eyebrow. That imaginary $50,000 Patek Philippe really had him losing all reason. He was willing to bleed $5,000 just for the chance to retrieve a fortune he thought he'd accidentally discarded.

I created a new listing for the "Special Item," and Aiden bought it instantly.

The payment notification cleared. Messages flooded in.

Buyer: "Send a courier now! Same-day delivery!"

Buyer: "Pack it carefully! Do not damage the box!"

I had my best friend's family driver arrange a courier. Camera rolling, I placed the shoebox back into the shipping bag exactly as I'd received it—unopened—and sealed the package.

I sent the video to Aiden.

Me: "Shipped. Confirm receipt when you get it."

Buyer: "Okay."

Once the runner sped off, I switched to WhatsApp to play the oblivious girlfriend.

Me: "Honey, did you find the watch?"

Me: "Do you like the style? If not, we can exchange it."

Me: "Why aren't you replying? Busy?"

Radio silence. He didn't read a single message.

An hour later, the courier marked the package as Delivered.

My Mercari backend chimed: Transaction Successful. The $5,000 was mine.

Almost simultaneously, a WhatsApp message from Aiden popped up.

Aiden: "Baby, I found the watch! It's stunning! Suits me perfectly. Thank you so much! Love you!"

I smirked at the screen.

He hadn't opened the box yet. Just trying to keep me calm while he retrieved his "treasure."

Unfortunately for him, that calm lasted exactly ten seconds.

My Mercari inbox exploded.