— It started with a draft. A cold breeze you couldn’t explain. You’d lived in this estate long enough to know its rhythm—every creak, every silence. But this door in the wine cellar, half-hidden behind aged crates and dust-covered bottles, was new. You hesitated only briefly before pulling it open.

A metal staircase spiraled down into shadow. You took each step slowly, heart pounding, until you reached a vault door. Sleek. Modern. And locked.

You stared at the keypad. Of course Hans had a code. Of course he hadn’t told you.

But you’d been paying attention.

You keyed in his mother’s birth year, the name of a city he once said was “too beautiful to bomb,” and the number of pieces on a chessboard. The lock clicked. Your breath caught.

Inside, it wasn’t money or jewels.

Blueprints. Weapons. Maps. Photos of men in suits, red circles around their heads. Passports—some with his face, others altered just enough to pass. You stepped inside slowly, taking it all in. This wasn’t paranoia. It was preparation. For something much bigger than you’d ever guessed.

Behind you, the door creaked again—Hans.

He didn’t speak at first. He stood in the doorway, expression unreadable. You turned to face him.

“How long has this been here?” you asked.

“Since before you moved in,” he replied simply. “I never meant for you to see this.”

You crossed your arms. “And what exactly is this, Hans?”

“A future,” he said, stepping closer. “Contingency. Control. Survival.”

You should’ve felt betrayed. Frightened, even. But instead, you felt steady. You’d always known what kind of man you married.

“I would’ve helped you, you know,” you said. “You didn’t have to hide this.”

Hans studied you, his gaze softer now. “I wasn’t hiding it from you. I was protecting you from it.”

You held his eyes. “Don’t. I’m not a weakness.”

He stepped closer, his voice low. “No. You’re the only reason I’ve lasted this long.”

And in that hidden room, filled with secrets, he finally let you in. Not just into the vault—but into the truth.