99.8%
© Luciana Rielle 2026. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the author’s written permission.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Grey eyes snapped wide.
“…What the hell?” The first technician leaned closer to the holographic screen, fingers moving across the glowing controls. “Is the system glitching again?”
A soft blue light washed over his partner’s face as he squinted at the cascading data. “Can you see this?”
The second man frowned, zooming in. “That’s… that’s a match.” Disbelief crept into his voice, thick and slow. “How is that even possible? He’s not supposed to be matched to anyone.”
The first exhaled sharply, tapping the display. “Didn’t they pull him out of the program three years ago? Project WARBORN, classified, unstable, marked for permanent stasis?”
“Yeah,” his partner murmured, eyes locked on the flashing compatibility bar. “Then why the hell is his file awake?”
The Mail Order Alien Husband Program hadn’t produced a perfect match in years. Especially not for someone like him.
For a long moment, the control room was silent except for the low hum of machines. Then the alert shifted, blue bleeding into urgent, pulsing red.
MATCH CONFIRMED: SUBJECT SORREN-09*
HUMAN COMPATIBILITY SCORE — 99.8%
The older tech swallowed hard. “Someone triggered his profile manually.”
“Who?”
“Someone from Earth,” he said slowly as the name finally loaded onto the screen.
Applicant Number 3372… Belle M. Ashcroft.
****
“Yes, Mom, I’m fine,” Belle said, rubbing slow circles over her throbbing forehead. The headache was digging in deeper with every word her mother spoke, her voice loud and bright against Belle’s ear, clashing with the chaotic chatter of the holiday shoppers around her.
It was a week before Christmas, and the mall was a glittering, noisy warzone, everyone rushing for last-minute gifts. Belle was no exception, though since she lived alone, she didn’t need much. Most of the items in her floating cart were for her older brother Mathew and his fiancé Damon, who had sweetly begged her to grab a few things on her way.
“I know you’re fine, but it would be better if you came to spend the holidays with us. We miss you,” her mother pressed.
“I miss you too,” Belle sighed, exasperated, adding another scented candle to the cart. “But I already told you, I’m spending this Christmas with Mathew. I spent the last one with you guys.”
The silence on the other end felt pointed.
“And when are you going to find a good partner?”
Here we go again, Belle thought, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“I don’t know why you broke up with Frank,” her mother continued. “He was a good guy….”
“A good guy?” Belle’s voice sharpened before she could stop it. She gripped the edge of the shelf, the phone still pressed tight to her ear. “Mom, I came back from a wedding, two weeks, just ‘two weeks’ and I found him sleeping with the gardener’s daughter. Right in our bed. And then he blamed me because I wasn’t there to ‘fulfill his needs,’ so he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
Belle’s knuckles whitened. Her mother’s voice kept pouring through the speaker like a relentless faucet.
“…and you know, men have needs, sweetheart. You can’t just leave them alone for two whole weeks and expect…”
“Mom.” Belle cut her off, sharper than she meant. She took a slow breath, forcing calm. “He cheated. He didn’t even try to hide it. He looked me in the eye and said it was my fault for not being there to ‘keep him satisfied.’ That’s not a man with needs. That’s a man who doesn’t respect me.”
Silence stretched on the line. Finally, a small, resigned sigh.
“I just… I worry you’re too picky, Belle. Frank was stable. Good job. A house. You’re not getting any younger, and…”
“I’m twenty-five, Mom. Not eighty.” Belle’s laugh came out brittle. “And I’d rather be alone forever than settle for someone who thinks loyalty is optional when I’m out of sight.”
Another long pause.
“You sound tired,” her mother said, softer now. “Are you okay?”
Belle closed her eyes for a second, the ache behind them pulsing harder.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just… Christmas shopping. Traffic’s bad. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too.”
Belle ended the call with a long, exhausted breath, pressing the phone against her chest like it weighed a ton.
Her mother’s parting words still echoed in her skull: “You’re not getting any younger, Belle. Men like Frank don’t grow on trees.”
“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath, “thank God for small mercies.”
She stared at the floating cart now brimming with wrapping paper, scented candles, a ridiculous amount of eggnog mix, and the exact brand of whiskey Mathew swore was the only thing that made Christmas tolerable. None of it felt like hers. It was all for other people’s holidays.
The truth she never said out loud pressed hard against the inside of her ribs: she *did* want it. The whole stupid, beautiful, messy package.
A husband who looked at her like she was the only star in the sky.
Late-night talks tangled in sheets.
Tiny socks. Crayon drawings taped to the fridge.
Someone who chose her every single day even on the days she was cranky, hormonal, and convinced the universe hated her.
She wanted to be loved so hard it scared her a little.
But after Frank, after the string of disappointments before him, after every “I think you’re great, but…” conversation, she’d quietly buried that dream under layers of practicality and sarcasm. Kissing frogs was exhausting. And apparently, she was very bad at picking which ones might turn into princes.
She loaded the bags into the trunk of her little silver hovercar, the cold December air biting at her cheeks. The parking lot smelled of exhaust and cinnamon from the nearby stall. Christmas lights blinked in frantic patterns across the mall facade.
Her comm buzzed just as she slid into the driver’s seat.
Mathew.
“Hey, trouble,” she answered, trying to sound lighter than she felt.
“Hey yourself. Bad news, change of plans. Mina invited us up to their cabin in the mountains. Snow, fireplace, the whole romantic torture package. We’re heading out tonight. You sure you’re okay on your own?”
Belle closed her eyes for a second. Of course. Everyone pairing off. Everyone having somewhere to go.
“I’ll survive,” she said. “Go. Have fun. Tell Mina I said hi and that she owes me a girls’ night when you’re back.”
“You’re the best. Love you, Belle.”
“Love you too, Mat.”
She ended the call.
Silence filled the car.
Then another buzz. Unknown caller.
She almost ignored it. But something, maybe boredom, maybe that restless ache in her chest made her swipe to answer.
A crisp, professional male voice came through the speaker.
“Ms. Belle M. Ashcroft?”
“Yes… who’s this?”
“This is Administrator Elias Korr, Earth Division, Mail Order Alien Husband Program. We need you to come to headquarters immediately. Your profile has triggered a match.”
Belle’s heart stuttered.
She laughed once, short, disbelieving. “That’s impossible. I signed up years ago. Nothing happened. I forgot I even…”
“It’s not a mistake,” he interrupted gently. “The system flagged a 99.8% compatibility. We’ve never seen a score that high. The subject is… exceptional. And awake.”
Her mouth went dry. “Awake?”
“Please come to the Philadelphia complex as soon as possible. We’ll explain everything when you arrive.”
The line went dead.
For almost a full minute she sat frozen, breath fogging the windshield.
Then, fingers trembling, she punched the coordinates into the nav.
◆◆◆
The headquarters building looked more like a sleek corporate tower than the romantic dream factory most people imagined. No pastel holograms of smiling couples. Just cold glass, security drones, and a biometric scanner that read her retinas like it was judging her life choices.
Administrator Korr met her in a private consultation room, mid-forties, impeccable suit, tired eyes behind stylish frames.
He didn’t waste time.
“You’re matched with Subject Sorren-09.”
Belle blinked. “Okay… and?”
Korr leaned forward. “He’s not what we normally offer. The program matches humans with humans, Exo species with each other, Exo with humans, yes. But Sorren is… different. He was part of Project WARBORN. Bio-engineered hybrid. Half human, half Zyon. Designed as the ultimate soldier during the Border Wars. Then he went rogue. They couldn’t control him. So they put him in permanent stasis. Until today.”
Belle’s pulse roared in her ears. She remembered the name Zyon. She’d seen them, those towering, lethal beings on Viral Prime. The way they moved. The way they looked at you like they were already calculating how many seconds it would take to end you.
“And now he’s… matched to me?” she whispered.
“Apparently.” Korr’s mouth twisted. “A glitch. A catastrophic one. We’ll pull his profile and wipe the record. No one has to know.”
Something hot flared in Belle’s chest.
“Wait,” she said. “Why are you so sure it’s a mistake?”
Korr actually laughed, dry, humorless. “Because who would want to marry that? He’s flawed beyond repair. He’s barely even—”
“Don’t,” she cut in, sharper than she intended. “Don’t call him that.”
Korr raised an eyebrow, surprised.
She swallowed. “Show me his file.”
He hesitated… then tapped the table. A holo-projection bloomed between them.
Belle stopped breathing.
Sorren-09 stared back at her from the still image.
Tall, God, impossibly tall. Broad shoulders that looked like a tank. Jet-black hair shaved at the sides, longer on top, falling in a careless sweep over one eye. Sharp cheekbones. A jaw that could cut glass.
And the machinations: thin, silver-black tendrils of bio-circuitry curling from his left temple, down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his containment suit. They glowed faintly, like veins of molten starlight. One eye was storm-grey. The other… a deep, luminous amber.
He was terrifying.
He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought it might bruise them.
“What… what is he exactly, a full zyon?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Half Zyon,” Korr corrected flatly. “The Zyon were apex predators, genetically perfect killing machines. We tried to harness that. We failed. Sorren is the result. Stronger, faster, more intelligent than any human or standard Exo. Also more volatile. The war ended. They decommissioned the project. He’s been asleep for three years.”
Belle couldn’t look away from the holo.
“He has no capacity for empathy,” Korr continued. “No affection. No love. He’s dangerous, Ms. Ashcroft. We do not advise proceeding.”
She stared at the amber eye.
Something inside her, something reckless and hopeful and stupid whispered: What if you’re wrong?
She lifted her chin.
“Before I decide anything,” she said, “I want to see him. In person.”
Korr stared at her like she’d grown a second head.
“You’re serious.”
“Very.”
A long silence.
Then he sighed, rubbed his temple, and stood.
“Fine. We’ll wake him. Transport is already en route from Viral Prime stasis facility. He’ll be here within eight hours.”
Belle’s stomach flipped.
She was either about to meet her perfect match…
…or the most dangerous mistake of her life.
And somehow, terrifyingly, she couldn’t wait to find out which..
