Dami,

If you're reading this, something finally went right. Or Jo (Johannes) pulled off a miracle.

Seven months. That's how long it's been since Mike Marino ripped me out of our lives. Yanked me from Dawn's arms and slammed the door on every version of home I ever had.

He sold me, Dami. I got handed off like bad luggage to a man who calls himself Egil Vestland. He's an asshole. His house? Picture those postcards you always made fun of. Glass walls, snowcapped peaks, a fjord that could swallow the world. I wake up to it every day and want to smash every window.

He calls it his 'home away from home,' but I call it a cage. No phone. No WiFi. Not even a radio unless he's in the mood for classical music. The only contact I get is him, and trust me, I'd trade him for the neighbor's crazy-ass dog back in Lester Harbor. At least the dog didn't bite to see me flinch.

You'd laugh—Egil renamed me "Nora." Yeah, from Ibsen. Because nothing says "freedom" like starring in your own forced remake of A Doll's House while a psychopath picks your underwear. I renamed him Lucifer. It fits.

He tells me you sold me out. Says you traded me to Marino the minute I gave you Dawn, and now you're out there, king of your mother's old empire, arms full of new women and zero regrets. He says you knew I was alive. Says you didn't care. Sometimes, I almost believe it. That's what isolation does, I guess. It cuts you open and lets every lie fester until it feels true.

I wrote a note for the police during a short trip to Oslo. Scribbled it on a napkin and handed it to a waitress, praying she wasn't one of Lucifer's. Nothing happened. No sirens, no rescue.

But here's the thing—he doesn't know me. He doesn't know you, either.

You're not the man who leaves his wife to rot. I refuse to believe it, no matter how many tabloid covers or vodka-soaked rants the fucker throws at me. Sometimes Lucifer stares at my hand. The missing fingertip—Mike's idea of a receipt. To Lucifer, it's a flaw. He says he didn't pay for the damage.

He tries to bend my will, telling me you're just a shadow in my memory. He wants me to give up on you, let go of Dawn in my heart, and surrender to the numbness. I refuse. Forgive me for the things you'll read. For what I did. I was at my weakest point, breaking into pieces.

I buy fish for him from the docks in Jørpeland. He's too lazy to cook for himself, so he sends me with a fucking bodyguard. That's where I met Jo. Fisherman. Decent English, calloused hands, the kind of guy who'd give you the shirt off his back, then ask for a cigarette. He noticed the bruises. Said, "You're too young for eyes like that." I almost cried on the spot.

He offered to help. Kept saying, "If you need it, ask." So here it is—I'm asking. I gave him this journal and the letter. If you have this, he came through. Ask Jo for "Nora." He'll know.

Don't trust the police here. They're bought. Lucifer's got eyes in every window, cameras on the walls, friends in every bar. If you come for me, come with fire. If it takes being your father's son, do it. If it takes being your mother's son, do it twice. I don't care what darkness you have to crawl through to get me out.

I'm not who I was. Seven months of this? You don't walk away the same. I dream of Dawn. I hum her lullabies at night, half-crazy, clutching the edge of a cheap blanket and pretending it's her hair under my fingers.

I miss you. I miss laughing at your dumb jokes and falling asleep in our bed. Safe. My body doesn't feel like mine anymore—just something Lucifer dresses up, strips down, and hurts when he's bored. But I'm still here, somewhere inside.

If you're reading this, you found me. Or you're close.

My journal's yours. Use it—burn Lucifer to the ground or bury him. Whatever it takes to make sure he never does this to anyone again. Bring justice, or bring hell. I honestly don't care which.

And when you come—

Be the monster you were born to be.

End this war.

Bring me home.

Don't let him win.

Find me.

Yours—no matter what they did to me,

Chloe

***

A/N: What would you do if you were Chloe? Or Damian?

Stick around for more. ✨🙏💖