The Greek Billionaire’s Overlooked Wife (A Billionaire Breaks My Heart #9)

Leonidas

These two were good together, Mrs. Sanchez thought fondly as she watched her billionaire boss gently wake his wife from her nap.

The young Mrs. Gazis had fallen asleep somewhere over the Atlantic, her head tilting toward the window of the private jet, a tablet still clutched in her hands.

Something technical on the screen, full of diagrams and equations that Mrs. Sanchez couldn’t begin to decipher.

The girl was always working on something, always lost in her world of machines and calculations.

And yet here he was, handling his sleeping wife like she was something precious and delicate.

Athens to New York, and then the crew was to enjoy a paid leave while Mr. Gazis flew commercial (first class, of course) to Monaco, and only upon his return to New York would the couple use the private jet to fly back to Athens.

All this trouble, Mrs. Sanchez thought with quiet amusement, just so his wife wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of flying commercial.

“Lexy.” His voice was low, patient. “We’ve landed.”

Mrs. Gazis stirred, blinking those serious dark eyes. For a moment she looked disoriented, a small crease forming between her brows. Then she registered her husband’s face, and something in her expression settled.

Not joy, exactly. Not the swooning adoration Mrs. Sanchez had seen from other trophy wives. Just...calm. Recognition. Like he was a familiar landmark in an unfamiliar landscape.

“Already?” Lexy sat up straighter, reaching automatically for the tablet Leonidas had already set aside. “I was in the middle of—”

“It can wait.” The billionaire’s tone was gentle but firm.

“I guess.” Hers was of quick acquiescence, and hearing this had Mrs. Sanchez struggling to keep her face blank.

The truth was, the young Mrs. Gazis might look innocent and biddable, but she could be surprisingly stubborn on most things.

..except where her husband was concerned.

What Leonidas said, Leonidas got...because Lexy trusted her husband to always have her best interests at heart.

Leonidas rose to his full height with the unconscious grace of a man who had been impeccably dressed since birth. “Come. The car is waiting.”

Another round of discreet smiles were exchanged among the staff as they listened to their handsome and normally aloof boss betray his humanity in the next few minutes, with Leonidas acting more like a parent would with a forgetful child as he reminded Lexy about keeping her belongings safe and warning her against talking to strangers.

“But I’ve never been the friendly type,” Lexy protested. “You know how much I hate talking to anyone—”

“Ah, yes.” His tone was sardonic. “My mistake. You don’t enjoy talking to anyone indeed. You just prefer to open your wallet and sign checks for anyone who asks you for money.”

His wife frowned, he raised a brow in challenge, but when she opened her mouth to protest, Leonidas held his hand up and turned to face Mrs. Sanchez and the rest of the staff, and...oh dear. Had their boss known all along that they had been watching and listening?

“Do tell, Mrs. Sanchez,” the billionaire drawled. “Am I right or am I right?”

Mrs. Sanchez and the others smiled apologetically at Lexy. As much as they wanted to take their young mistress’s side, they wanted her safe even more, and so—

“I’m sorry, dear, but I’m afraid Mr. Gazis is indeed right.”

Lexy did make an easy mark for most people, with her stubborn desire to give everyone the benefit of the doubt...even if all signs pointed to the other party being a con artist.

Just last month, she’d nearly wired fifty thousand euros to a “charity” that turned out to be a front for money laundering.

The month before that, she’d given her credit card number to a caller claiming to be from the bank.

And the incident with the “stranded tourist” in Mykonos had required actual legal intervention.

It was remarkable in a way, how someone as academically brilliant as Lexy could be so...disconnected with reality. Perhaps it was because of her sheltered upbringing that Lexy seemed constitutionally incapable of believing anyone would lie to her face.

Mrs. Sanchez accompanied the couple upon disembarking, a limousine on standby to take them to the hotel. New York in early autumn was crisp and bright, the sky a sharp blue above the Manhattan skyline.

Heads turned as the couple entered the hotel lobby, and Mrs. Sanchez didn’t miss the way all the women’s gazes snagged on Leonidas—the golden hair, the powerful shoulders, that face like something carved by old gods with a sense of drama.

But what made their expressions turn envious wasn’t just his looks.

It was the way his attention remained solely focused on his wife.

The way his hand rested at the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd.

The way he angled his body between her and anyone who came too close.

A lion and his keeper, Mrs. Sanchez thought. Though she was never quite sure which one was which.

Once in their suite, it was also her boss who personally checked that his wife had her passport and wallet with her.

He plugged in her phone to charge, knowing she would forget.

He ordered room service—a full meal, not just coffee—because everyone knew Lexy had the tendency to forget to eat if she was left alone with her work.

“Remember, if you need anything—”

“I’m going to be fine, I promise.” Lexy’s voice was patient but firm. “It will just be three days.”

“The last time I left you for thirty minutes, you managed to—”

Lexy opened the door. “I’ll see you in three days, Mr. Gazis.”

Her boss was still frowning when the door closed in his face.

“Mrs. Sanchez—”

“We already have extra security assigned to Mrs. Gazis.” This was a conversation they had countless times, and contingencies were already in place.

“Make sure—”

“Twelve-hour shifts for each pair,” she added with a smile, “to ensure round-the-clock surveillance. They have strict instructions to remain unobtrusive but to intervene immediately if anyone approaches her with suspicious intent.”

She had also arranged for the hotel staff to be briefed, for Mrs. Gazis’s calls to be screened, and for any unexpected visitors to be turned away at the desk. But she kept those details to herself. Her boss didn’t need to know just how extensive the protocols had become over the years.

Leonidas turned to her with a grimace. “It seems I’ve become predictable where my wife is concerned.”

She was about to assure him with a smile that his predictability was the kind to be admired when her phone rang, and the name that flashed on the screen had her face turning carefully blank.

“We have a call from Milan, sir.”

Leonidas’s features went expressionless as well. Whatever warmth had softened him these past hours vanished, replaced by the cool, unreadable mask he wore in boardrooms and negotiations.

“I’ll take it.”

****

Two days later...

It might be time for a divorce.

The thought settled over Leonidas Gazis like a familiar weight as he stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Cannizzaro Racing headquarters, his gaze fixed on the test track below.

From the executive level, the training drivers looked like toys.

Sleek machines carving through curves, engines screaming in the afternoon heat.

One of them braked too late entering the chicane. Typical rookie mistake, the kind that separated champions from casualties.

Eight years ago, that could have been him down there.

Should have been him.

And it would have been him, if not for a torn posterior cruciate ligament that had ended his racing career before it truly began.

The PCL injury had been a cruel joke of fate.

Not dramatic enough for sympathy, not visible enough for anyone to understand why a twenty-nine-year-old with reflexes like lightning couldn’t simply push through it.

But the ligament controlled the knee’s backward movement.

Essential for the split-second braking adjustments that meant the difference between podium and wall.

His body had betrayed him. And Leonidas, ever the practical man, had taken it as a sign to switch gears in life. He retired the same day he was discharged from the hospital, and the day after that, he had accepted his father’s offer to take over the family business.

Along with a bride.

Eight years had passed since then. Eight years of marriage, and it was the kind of marriage that he still had trouble describing.

His mind drifted to Lexy. To her serious dark eyes and her love of machines and her complete indifference to his fortune. Twenty-six years old now. No longer the barely-legal teenager her mother had warned him about with such theatrical despair.

If he went through with the divorce, he would still look after her.

She would never know, of course. He’d make sure of that.

But the security details would remain. The financial protections.

The quiet network of people whose job it was to ensure that Lexina Aryanis Gazis—or whatever name she chose to take afterward—never fell prey to another con artist, never went hungry because she forgot to eat, never found herself stranded in an unfamiliar city without someone watching from the shadows.

She would be free. Truly free, for the first time since their arrangement began.

And if she chose to marry someone else...

The thought filled him with an unexpected surge of distaste. His jaw tightened. His hands, clasped behind his back, curled into fists.

But that was normal, surely. He cared about her. Had grown accustomed to her presence in his life, even if that presence was mostly peripheral. It was only natural to feel protective, to feel some resistance to the idea of another man taking his place.

Not jealousy. Just concern.

He wanted what was best for her. That was all.