*The entrance is behind the metal tool racks.*

*He built it for his tools, but he put a bed down there.*

*He locked me in for ninety-two days.*

I stared at the words.

The kitchen seemed to tilt.

The white cabinets, the stainless-steel appliances, the expensive marble counters.

Everything felt artificial.

Like a set built to hide something rotting underneath.

“This is a lie,” Julian said.

His voice was conversational again, but his hand was shaking.

“Sarah is in Lyons. She’s been there for years.”

“How would this person know about the garage?” I asked.

My voice was barely a whisper.

“Everyone knows about the garage, Clara,” he said.

“It was in the real estate listing when we bought the house.”

“The listing didn’t mention a room under the concrete,” I said.

Julian looked at me.

His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated.

“You believe this?” he asked.

“You believe some internet troll over your husband?”

Another message popped up at the bottom of the screen.

*He uses the smart-home app to lock the doors.*

*He can cut the power to the garage from his phone.*