The healing circle began at noon.
By two o'clock, someone had already fainted.
To be fair, this was not unusual when Blaze was involved.
Blaze had been Lucien's best friend for eleven years and his spiritual emergency contact for nine. He believed in astrology with the intensity of a military religion and treated minor inconveniences like paranormal attacks.
Three weeks ago, he accused the espresso machine of "creating hostile frequencies."
Unfortunately, he was also occasionally correct.
Which was why I was currently sitting cross-legged on a floor cushion in my own penthouse while six emotionally exhausted healers hummed at my boyfriend.
I own three international shipping companies.
This was somehow still the most stressful part of my week.
"Adrian," Blaze whispered gravely from across the meditation room, "Lucien's aura is destabilizing."
I looked up immediately.
The meditation room—formerly my library before Blaze declared classic literature "psychically loud"—glowed with candlelight and drifting incense smoke. Ambient whale sounds echoed softly through hidden speakers while several women in linen sat in a circle around Lucien with expressions normally associated with emergency surgery.
Lucien lay beneath a weighted blanket in the center of the room clutching a piece of rose quartz against his chest.
He looked devastatingly beautiful.
He also looked one bad horoscope away from collapse.
"When did this start?" I asked.
Blaze's jaw tightened.
"The west wing accelerated it."
A cold silence settled over the room.
The west wing had become controversial recently.
Plants died there.
Two assistants had cried there.
One Swiss investor became overwhelmed with emotion near the wine cellar and tried to call his ex-wife.
Personally, I believed the hallway needed warmer lighting.
Blaze believed it contained "predatory masculine grief."
"The penthouse is draining him," Blaze continued quietly. "Lucien's too emotionally open for this kind of environment."
Lucien stirred weakly beneath the blanket.
"The apartment feels emotionally expensive..."
One of the healers gasped softly.
I stood immediately.
"Marianne."
My assistant looked up from her tablet without emotion.
"Yes, sir."
"Prepare the jet."
Blaze looked relieved. "For Sedona?"
"Yes."
Blaze stared at me.
"Sedona?" he repeated. "Adrian, be serious."
A terrible feeling settled into my chest.
"You said desert energy helped."
"For emotional fatigue. This is energetic organ failure."
The room went still.
Lucien made a weak sound from beneath the blanket.
"I saw a Five Below yesterday..."
Several people visibly tensed.
"And for a moment," he whispered hoarsely, "it felt grounding."
One woman immediately burst into tears.
Blaze grabbed my wrist with alarming urgency.
"You don't understand, Adrian. If we don't get him near a natural water source soon—"
He stopped.
Fear crawled up my spine.
"What?"
Blaze lowered his voice.
"He might become spiritually suburban."
My stomach dropped.
"Dear God."
Even Marianne looked shaken by that.
Lucien pulled the weighted blanket closer around himself.
"What if I lose my whimsy?" he whispered.
"You won't," Blaze said instantly, kneeling beside him. "I won't let that happen to you."
I crossed the room and crouched beside Lucien carefully.
His hair was falling into his eyes.
He looked exhausted.
Soft.
Fragile in that specific way wealthy men like me were never allowed to be.
Six months ago, before Lucien, I believed crystals were decorative.
Last week I spent forty thousand dollars importing volcanic salt because Blaze said Lucien's "inner water signs were dehydrated."
Love changes a man.
"Look at me," I said quietly.
Lucien blinked up at me weakly.
"You are not becoming a Walmart leggings person."
His eyes filled with emotion immediately.
Blaze looked like he was about to cry.
"That," he whispered to the room, "is real partnership."
Then the meditation room doors slammed open so violently that three candles extinguished instantly.
Saturn stood in the doorway wearing oversized sunglasses, an alpaca wool coat, and the expression of a man who had witnessed unspeakable horrors.
He was barefoot.
My blood ran cold.
Saturn was never barefoot unless the situation was catastrophic.
"No," he said breathlessly. "No, no, no, you can't take him to Sedona."
Blaze turned sharply. "Saturn—"
"I've seen the charts."
The room froze.
Marianne actually stopped typing.
Saturn staggered forward clutching his phone like evidence from a crime scene.
"This is far more severe than we thought."
Lucien whimpered softly.
Saturn looked directly at me.
"Adrian," he said gravely, "his water alignment has fully inverted."
A sound healer fainted immediately beside the salt lamps.
Another whispered, "Not again," before collapsing sideways into a meditation cushion.
Blaze looked horrified.
"That's impossible."
"It happened during the blood moon."
"Dear God," Blaze whispered.
Saturn removed his sunglasses slowly.
"No," he said quietly. "Even Santa Fe won't work."
The room fell completely silent.
Lucien curled tighter beneath the weighted blanket.
"I don't wanna become spiritually commercialized..."
"You won't," Blaze assured him immediately.
Saturn looked at me with absolute seriousness.
"We need the lake house at Hakone. Stat."
Marianne looked up sharply. "The Japan house?"
"The volcanic minerals are the only thing strong enough to stabilize his energetic field."
Everyone looked at me then.
Waiting.
Because somehow this had once again become my responsibility.
And the truly horrifying part was that I no longer knew if any of this was fake.
Three months ago I would've laughed at this conversation.
Now?
Now I was mentally calculating flight time to Tokyo.
I stood slowly.
"Marianne."
"Yes, sir."
"Reroute the jet."
"Already done."
"Alert Hakone staff we'll need the salt baths prepared before arrival."
"Understood."
"And contact the Kyoto healer."
Blaze's eyes widened.
"The one who treated the Norwegian prince?"
"The very same."
Saturn covered his mouth emotionally.
"Adrian..."
I loosened my tie and stared out at the storm gathering beyond the penthouse windows.
Nobody under my protection, I decided, was going to become spiritually suburban.