They find out why they've been unlucky in love...

Dr. Alfred Genet's office was exactly what Harry had expected a geneticist's workspace to look like—walls lined with bookshelves holding thick scientific journals, several computer monitors displaying complex data visualizations, and what appeared to be a DNA sequencing machine humming quietly in the corner. The space smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee, and Dr. Genet himself sat behind a cluttered desk, his mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—studying Harry with an intensity that made him want to squirm.

"Mr. Thornton, thank you for coming," Dr. Genet said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. His voice was clipped and precise, each word carefully enunciated. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss regarding your genetic compatibility results."

Harry sat, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair. His heart hammered in his chest, and he was acutely aware of the slight tremor in his fingers. This was it. Whatever Dr. Genet was about to tell him would either confirm his worst fears or offer him something he'd almost given up hoping for.

Dr. Genet pulled up a file on one of his monitors, the screen displaying what looked like a complex chart of genetic markers. "I'll be direct with you, Mr. Thornton, because I find that directness serves better than false comfort. Your genetic profile is quite unusual."

"Unusual how?" Harry asked, his voice coming out rougher than he'd intended.

"You have less than five percent compatibility with nearly all respondents in our database." Dr. Genet said it matter-of-factly, as if he were commenting on the weather rather than destroying Harry's hopes. "Out of 47,362 active female users currently in our system, you register below the threshold for meaningful compatibility with 47,359 of them."

Harry felt his jaw clench, his back teeth grinding together. Less than five percent. Essentially unmatchable. The words hit him like physical blows, confirming every insecurity he'd ever had about himself. Of course he was incompatible with everyone. Of course science would just quantify what he'd always suspected—that there was something fundamentally wrong with him that made connection impossible.

"Right," Harry said tightly. "So I wasted your time and mine, then. Should have fucking known."

"Mr. Thornton, please let me finish," Dr. Genet interrupted, pushing his frameless glasses up his nose. "While your compatibility with the vast majority of our database is indeed negligible, you have one hundred percent compatibility with exactly one respondent."

Harry's brain stuttered to a halt. "What?"

"One hundred percent," Dr. Genet repeated, his fingers dancing across his keyboard to pull up additional data. "In twenty-three years of genetic research and three years developing GeneMatch, I have never seen compatibility scores this high. You and this individual are, for lack of a better term, genetically perfect for each other. Every marker we test for—pheromone reception, neurotransmitter compatibility, immune system complementarity, hormonal synchronization—you align completely."

The words weren't making sense. Harry stared at the monitors displaying charts and graphs he couldn't interpret, trying to process what he was hearing. Perfect compatibility. One hundred percent. One person in nearly fifty thousand.

"How is that possible?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Frankly, I'm not entirely certain," Dr. Genet admitted, and there was something almost excited in his clinical tone. "The statistical probability of this level of compatibility is infinitesimal. It suggests that certain rare genetic combinations create compatibility so specific that only one in tens of thousands of people could qualify. You and your match are biological anomalies."

Harry's hands were shaking now, his earlier anger transforming into something closer to shock. "And this person... she agreed to meet me?"

"She doesn't know yet," Dr. Genet said. "I'm meeting with her after you. But given her own compatibility results, I believe she will be equally motivated to meet. However, there is a condition."

"What condition?" Harry asked, suddenly wary.

Dr. Genet leaned forward, his mismatched eyes gleaming with scientific interest. "This level of compatibility is unprecedented, Mr. Thornton. If you both agree, I would like to study your relationship as it develops. Document the biological and emotional effects of perfect genetic matching. In exchange for your participation, I'm prepared to offer substantial compensation and continued support. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, though he wasn't sure he understood anything anymore. His cock had hardened again in his trousers, that same inexplicable arousal from last night returning. His body seemed to know something his brain was still struggling to accept.

"I'll do it," Harry said. "Whatever you need. I'll sign whatever forms you want."

***

Samantha sat in the same chair Harry had occupied an hour earlier, her hands twisted together in her lap so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Dr. Genet looked at her with those unsettling mismatched eyes, and she **** herself to meet his gaze despite wanting to run from whatever he was about to tell her.

"Ms. Brooks, your genetic profile presents some unusual challenges," Dr. Genet began, and Samantha felt her stomach drop. "You have less than five percent compatibility with approximately 99.9% of our male database. Out of 52,847 active male users, you show meaningful compatibility with only four individuals, and even those scores are below thirty percent."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Less than five percent. Essentially unmatchable. Samantha blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that suddenly threatened to spill down her cheeks. Of course. Of course she was too difficult to match, too boyish, too intense, too fucking much and not enough at the same time.

"So that's it, then," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm just... incompatible with everyone."

"Not everyone," Dr. Genet said, and something in his tone made her look up sharply. "You have one hundred percent compatibility with exactly one respondent."

Samantha's breath caught in her throat. "What?"

"One hundred percent compatibility across every genetic marker we test for," Dr. Genet continued, pulling up data on his monitors. "In my entire career, I have never seen results like this. You and this individual are genetically perfect for each other."

Tears were sliding down Samantha's cheeks now, but they were different tears—relief and disbelief and **** hope all mixed together. "Is he... does he want to meet me?"

"He's already agreed," Dr. Genet said, and there was the faintest hint of a smile on his usually stern face. "He's here in Paris. I met with him this morning, and his reaction was quite similar to yours. However, I must ask something of you both."

"Anything," Samantha said immediately, wiping at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.

Dr. Genet explained the same research proposal he'd offered Harry—the documentation, the study. Samantha barely heard the details. All she could focus on was the fact that somewhere in this city, maybe even in this building, there was a man whose DNA matched hers perfectly. A man who was just as rare and specific and impossible to match as she was.

"When can I meet him?" she asked, cutting off Dr. Genet mid-explanation.

"Today," Dr. Genet said. "This afternoon, if you're both ready. But first, I need you to sign these consent forms."

Samantha's hands trembled as she accepted the pen and papers. Her nipples had hardened again beneath her cardigan and blouse, pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. Her body was responding to something she couldn't yet name, some biological certainty that her perfect match was close.

She signed her name in jagged letters, the pen nearly slipping from her sweaty grip.

***

Dr. Genet sat alone in his office after both meetings, reviewing his notes with the focused intensity of a man observing something unprecedented. Harry Thornton had displayed elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, and obvious physical arousal during their meeting—his erection had been poorly concealed despite his attempts to hide it. Samantha Brooks had shown similar physiological responses: flushed skin, hardened nipples visible through her layers, rapid breathing.

Neither of them knew they'd been staying in adjoining hotel rooms. Neither knew they'd stood on opposite sides of the same wall last night, their bodies already recognizing what their minds couldn't yet comprehend.

Dr. Genet made careful notes about all of it, his scientific mind cataloging every detail. This was going to be his greatest research achievement—documenting what happened when two genetically perfect matches finally met. The anticipation made his fingers tremble slightly as he typed.