Chapter 3 - THE GROUP CHAT CALLED ME “THE PROJECT”
Ethan did not give me the screenshots in the ballroom.
I was grateful.
I had already spent enough of my wedding day discovering new versions of myself inside other people’s conversations.
He gave them to Anika.
Then Anika gave them to me after asking.
“Do you want to see these tonight?”
We were in a hotel suite three floors above the ballroom.
Not the bridal suite.
I could not go back there yet.
My parents had left with my luggage.
Mallory had arranged a quiet service elevator so I did not have to cross the lobby in my dress while guests checked out.
Dorian had been escorted to a different floor after he refused twice to stop trying to reach me.
He had not threatened anyone.
He had not become violent.
He had simply believed persistence should eventually change my answer.
That frightened me in a different way.
I sat on the edge of the hotel bed still wearing the wedding dress.
My makeup was gone.
I had wiped it off with hotel washcloths.
Anika sat beside me holding her phone.
“Do you want to see them?”
I thought.
“No.”
She nodded.
Then I changed my mind.
“Yes.”
She waited.
I laughed weakly.
“I reserve the right to do that for the next century.”
“Absolutely.”
Ethan had exported part of a group chat.
Seven men.
Dorian.
Blake Camden.
Ethan Cole.
Marcus Reed.
Jordan Vale.
Chris Hammond.
And a man named Tyler Knox I had met exactly twice.
The group name:
THE LAST FREE MEN
I stared.
“Original.”
Anika looked disgusted.
“It gets worse.”
Of course.
The screenshots went back almost two years.
At first, ordinary.
Sports.
Work jokes.
Memes.
Bachelor-party planning.
Then me.
A photograph Dorian took at a lakefront charity run.
I was eating a bagel.
Dorian captioned:
Carb loading begins. Pray for me.
Blake:
Bro wedding photos are still 14 months out. You have time.
Dorian:
I’m aware.
My stomach twisted.
Anika stopped.
“We don’t have to keep going.”
“Yes.”
I hated myself for saying it.
But I needed context.
Another photo.
Me asleep on our sofa under a blanket.
Nothing intimate.
Still private.
Dorian:
The project has entered hibernation.
Blake:
Put ring light near Peloton.
Laughter emojis.
The project.
I whispered:
“What does that mean?”
Anika’s eyes filled.
Then screenshots six months later.
Dorian:
Cora thinks weighing herself stresses her out, so I’m just handling food quietly.
Blake:
That’s marriage prep.
Ethan:
Or you could not manage her diet?
I looked.
Ethan had pushed back.
Dorian:
Relax. I’m not starving her.
Then:
I just don’t want to marry someone and watch her stop trying.
I felt physically cold.
I thought about dinners.
The weeks Dorian suddenly insisted we order salads.
When he stopped buying bread because he said it went stale.
When he suggested morning walks.
I had thought he wanted healthier routines together.
Maybe some of that was real.
Now I did not know.
Another screenshot.
A picture of my lower back in a swimsuit at a private cabin weekend.
The birthmark was barely visible near hip.
Not enough for Blake’s exact description.
Dorian caption:
She’d murder me if she knew I posted this.
Blake:
Then delete before marriage.
Dorian:
Worth it.
I stopped.
My eyes burned.
“Why didn’t Ethan tell me?”
Anika’s face tightened.
“He says he confronted Dorian privately.”
“Not me.”
“No.”
“And stayed in chat.”
“Yes.”
That mattered.
Ethan was better than Blake.
He was not blameless.
Then screenshots from four months ago.
The scar.
Not photo.
Discussion.
Dorian wrote:
She’s having one of her scar days.
Marcus:
What’s a scar day?
Dorian:
She decides the surgery ruined her body and I spend an hour convincing her otherwise.
My breath caught.
That conversation had happened.
I remembered.
I had been trying on a swimsuit for our honeymoon.
The scar looked darker under fitting-room lights.
I had become quiet.
Dorian hugged me.
Told me I was beautiful.
Later, apparently, he reported the moment.
Blake:
Women will invent problems just to make you solve them.
Dorian:
Pretty much.
I closed my eyes.
I had not invented.
I had trusted.
Then Tyler:
At least you know everything works?
My stomach dropped.
What did that mean?
Dorian replied:
Doctor says probably. She’s weird about fertility questions because of surgery.
I stood so quickly Anika reached for me, then stopped herself.
Good.
My fertility fears.
Private.
After the ruptured cyst, a doctor had told me there was no clear reason I could not have children, but I might need follow-up depending future symptoms.
I told Dorian because we had discussed children.
He told his friends.
Not detailed medical records.
Still mine.
I paced.
“He told them everything.”
Anika said nothing.
I kept reading.
Then the fitting photograph.
Three weeks before wedding.
Dorian posted it at 9:18 p.m.
The same night I sent it.
Caption:
Final prototype.
I stared.
Prototype.
Blake:
Zoomable?
Dorian:
Behave.
Then he posted original high-resolution image.
Blake:
Scar spotted.
Marcus:
Dress looks good though.
Ethan:
Delete this. She obviously sent it to you.
Dorian:
Relax. No nudity.
That phrase again.
As if nudity was the only line that mattered.
Blake:
Birthmark is actually cute.
That was how he knew.
Then:
BLAKE: Sending to bachelor chat.
Dorian:
Don’t.
Thirty seconds later:
BLAKE: Too late.
Dorian replied with three laughing emojis.
Not anger.
Not:
Delete it.
Not:
You crossed line.
Laughing.
My hands shook.
“How many people were in bachelor chat?”
Anika looked at Ethan’s note.
“Fourteen.”
Fourteen.
Not six.
Not seven.
Fourteen men had access to a photograph I sent one person.
My body felt suddenly foreign.
As if strangers’ eyes were still on me.
Then Ethan’s message:
Seriously, take it down. Cora would hate this.
Blake:
Cora hates oxygen when it happens without advance consent.
Dorian:
Facts.
I put phone down.
“I’m done.”
Anika locked screen.
No argument.
We sat.
After several minutes, my phone buzzed.
Dorian.
I had muted him, not blocked.
Please let me explain before you decide our entire future based on Ethan trying to look noble.
I laughed.
He still thought decision pending.
Another:
I told Blake not to forward it.
True.
Followed by laughing emojis.
Another:
I never sent nude photos.
Again.
Then:
Every guy jokes. You’ve heard Anika talk about men.
I handed phone to my sister.
She read.
“Would you like me to commit a felony?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
I blocked Dorian.
Then I called an attorney.
Not because I knew what legal remedy existed.
Because I needed to understand.
Naomi Chen was recommended by one of my clients.
She handled privacy, employment, and civil disputes.
We spoke Sunday morning.
I explained carefully.
The fitting photo showed me clothed in underlayer, part of scar, birthmark.
Not nude.
Naomi did not promise criminal charges.
Good.
She said:
“Whether any statute applies will depend on image, distribution, intent, jurisdiction, and facts.”
No fantasy.
“But you may have civil privacy claims, contractual issues, and grounds to demand preservation and deletion.”
That was enough.
“What should I do?”
“Do not ask anyone to delete yet.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Evidence first.”
Right.
“Ethan should preserve original chat. Do not circulate screenshots unnecessarily. We send preservation notices.”
My stomach twisted.
“Meaning people keep the photo longer.”
“Temporarily, yes.”
I hated.
“But controlled preservation can be important if you want accountability.”
I looked at Anika.
“What if I only want it gone?”
“Then we can prioritize deletion and written certifications, understanding evidence may be less complete.”
Choice.
Again.
I chose preservation through counsel, limited.
Then deletion demands after capture.
Naomi contacted Ethan through his attorney? He didn't have one. She asked him to export records securely.
He cooperated.
Then she sent notices to Dorian and Blake.
No public accusation.
No social media.
No revenge.
By Monday, wedding cancellation was already gossip.
Someone had posted video of my announcement.
Not the intimate image.
Thank God.
The video had thousands of views.
I heard myself say:
I am choosing mine.
Comments divided.
Good for her.
Overreaction.
Guys joke.
Private photo isn’t nude.
Poor groom.
Wedding culture is insane.
I stopped reading.
Dorian released a statement through Instagram:
Cora and I experienced a deeply painful misunderstanding on our wedding day. I regret sharing a non-explicit fitting photograph with close friends and regret participating in immature conversation. I never intended to humiliate her and hope we can resolve this privately.
Misunderstanding.
Non-explicit.
Close friends.
Every word minimized.
Then his mother, Lillian Mercer, texted me.
You have made your point. Please stop destroying Dorian publicly.
I stared.
I had made one statement.
At my own canceled wedding.
Then the next line:
A marriage requires forgiveness, not perfection.
I replied once.
There is no marriage.
She answered:
Not yet, because you stopped it.
Exactly.
Then Naomi called.
“Cora, we found something else.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
Ethan’s full export showed Blake had forwarded the fitting photograph to the bachelor chat.
We knew.
But he had also forwarded it to a second conversation.
A group of men from Dorian’s research institute.
Five people.
Three worked directly under Dorian.
And in that thread, the image was no longer the only problem.
Because Dorian and Blake had been using the same chat to joke about women Dorian supervised at work.
The betrayal had just crossed from my private life into his professional one.
May you like
And unlike our canceled wedding, that was a room Dorian could not control simply by calling everyone too sensitive.
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