The Billionaire and the Poor Girl

The silence in Alexandre Alencar's luxurious living room was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He wasn't the kind of man to answer unexpected calls during his working hours, but something in the urgent tone of the ringtone made him reach for the device on the table. The name flashing on the screen, "Dr. Rubens," his family's trusted lawyer, gave him a bad feeling. He frowned as he answered.

"Rubens?" His voice was firm and controlled, but inside, he was already anticipating something grave.

"Alexandre," the lawyer's voice on the other end sounded heavy. "I regret being the bearer of such tragic news. Your brother, Leandro... he was found dead this morning."

The world around Alexandre seemed to stop for a moment. He heard Rubens' words, but they felt distant, as if they weren't real.

"Dead?" he murmured, unable to process the information.

"Yes," Rubens hesitated before continuing. "It seems he committed suicide. He left a letter, Alexandre."

The word "suicide" echoed in Alexandre's mind, but he couldn't accept it. Leandro, his younger brother, had always been a dreamer. He had a romantic view of life, believed in love as a force capable of overcoming everything. The idea that he would take his own life was absurd.

"No, Rubens, this doesn’t make sense," Alexandre replied, his voice now filled with disbelief and a hint of anger. "Leandro would never do that. Something is wrong."

There was a pause on the other end before Rubens continued, with the same grave tone as before.

"I understand it’s hard to believe, Alexandre, but the police found a letter. And the preliminary investigation found no signs of violence. He was at the Foster mansion. The family is cooperating with the police, but... everything points to it being his decision."

The mention of the Foster mansion sparked something in Alexandre. Leandro had vaguely mentioned the Foster family a few times in their recent conversations. Something about being involved in business and a new romance. But Alexandre had never paid much attention, consumed with his own life and problems.

"Where is the letter?" Alexandre asked, his tone now firm and decisive. He needed to see it with his own eyes.

"The letter is in police custody, but I managed to get a copy for you. I can send it immediately, if you prefer."

"No. I want to see it in person," Alexandre said, already making up his mind. "I’ll be at the Foster mansion soon."

"Understood. I’ll be waiting to accompany you there," Rubens responded, maintaining his formal and respectful tone.

When he hung up the phone, Alexandre stood still for a moment, absorbing what had just happened. His brother, Leandro, was dead. And the explanation offered—suicide—seemed completely impossible to him. Leandro had always been the opposite of Alexandre. He was emotional, yes, but also resilient and passionate about life. The Leandro he knew would never give up on life like that.

As he prepared for his trip, Alexandre felt a growing determination inside him. Something was very wrong. He didn’t believe his brother had simply taken his own life, and he was determined to uncover the truth.

**

On his private jet, heading to the Foster mansion, Alexandre recalled his last conversations with Leandro. Something was deeply bothering him. Leandro had casually mentioned being enchanted by a woman he had met at the Foster mansion. He had spoken about life as if he were starting a new chapter. A man like that wouldn’t give up.

With every mile that brought him closer to the mansion, the anger inside him grew. He didn’t believe in coincidences, and the Foster name now seemed more threatening than ever. He knew the family had a questionable reputation, with a past of shady business dealings and manipulations. If there was more behind Leandro's death, he would find out.

The plane landed, and moments later, Alexandre was already in his private car, ready to head to the mansion. He looked out the window of the vehicle, the tall and ancient trees seemed to form a natural barrier around the imposing Foster estate. The light rain that began to fall gave a melancholic air to the scene. But Alexandre was focused. His thoughts revolved around the farewell letter he would soon have in his hands and what he might find in that place.

He still didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but one thing was certain: he was about to unearth secrets that the Fosters might want to keep buried.

The car glided silently along the road lined with ancient trees until the vast and imposing Foster mansion appeared in the distance. It seemed to emerge from the shadows, with its cold, classical facade, like a castle guarding long-buried secrets. Alexandre felt his discomfort growing as the vehicle approached. The cloudy sky mirrored his mood, a sign that the secrets he was about to uncover would not be pleasant.

As the car stopped in front of the main entrance, the iron gates opened automatically. Alexandre adjusted his suit as he stepped out, his eyes surveying the grounds. He was always alert, even in the most trivial situations, but today there was a different weight in the air, a sense of urgency and unease. He walked with firm steps toward the large oak door of the mansion, where a maid was waiting for him.

“Mr. Alencar, welcome. Mrs. Foster and her family are already expecting you,” said the maid, bowing her head with a tone of formality that Alexandre recognized as professional courtesy, devoid of any genuine emotion.

“Thank you,” Alexandre responded curtly. He felt like he was walking into enemy territory, though the smiles and welcomes masked any signs of it.

The door was opened for him, and Alexandre entered the vast hall. The room was opulent but carried a heavy, almost suffocating atmosphere. The silence was oppressive, as if everyone in the house feared saying something they shouldn't. Old portraits of Foster ancestors adorned the walls, and antique furniture filled every corner, suggesting that this family, besides being wealthy, had a long history of power and influence. The smell of old wood and expensive perfume lingered in the air, mixed with a sense of something dark.

Aurora Foster, the matriarch, stood in the middle of the hall, waiting for his arrival. Her face, a mask of serenity, barely concealed the discomfort that Alexandre quickly picked up on. She wore an elegant black dress with minimal detail, signaling mourning, but her expression remained cold and distant. Aurora's dark eyes studied him carefully.

“Alexandre,” she began, her voice soft but slightly restrained. “I'm glad you could come. This is a very... sad situation. We are all devastated by Leandro's loss.”

Alexandre nodded slightly but showed little emotion. He wasn’t there to accept false condolences or be consoled. He was there for answers.

“Thank you, Aurora,” he replied, avoiding prolonged eye contact. His eyes scanned the hall, analyzing every detail, every possible sign of something amiss. “But you know I didn’t come here just to mourn. There are things that don’t make sense to me, and I’m here to understand what really happened to my brother.”

Aurora took a deep breath but maintained her composed posture, as if she had already anticipated this reaction.

“Of course, Alexandre. I fully understand. We are all at your disposal to help with whatever is necessary. But I believe that... Leandro was facing many emotional difficulties. He was very sensitive, you know?”

"Leandro was sensitive," Alexandre thought. That was the excuse everyone seemed to be using. But for him, that explained nothing. Sensitive or not, Leandro wasn’t someone who would take his own life due to disillusionment. Alexandre knew that deep down.

Before he could respond, two other figures entered the hall, approaching with tense expressions. It was evident that the mood in the house was not one of genuine mourning but rather discomfort.

Murilo Foster, the eldest son, approached first. He had a rigid, almost military stance, and his eyes were cold, almost defiant.

“Alexandre, my condolences,” Murilo said, extending his hand firmly. “Leandro was a good man. It’s a great loss for all of us.”

Alexandre shook Murilo’s hand but did so formally, almost automatically. He could already sense the distrust behind Murilo’s words. Their eyes met briefly, and Alexandre realized that the Foster’s eldest son was clearly uncomfortable with his presence.

“Thank you,” Alexandre replied, not lingering in the exchange. “I hope we can all cooperate to clarify what happened.”

Murilo nodded, but there was something in his gaze that Alexandre didn’t like. Something evasive.

Next, Ana Júlia, Aurora’s eldest daughter, approached. She had an elegant posture and a beauty that was almost cold, like a marble statue. Her smile was seductive, but Alexandre quickly caught the falseness in her eyes.

“Alexandre, I’m so sorry for Leandro’s loss,” Ana Júlia said, her voice overly sweet, almost syrupy. “He was so dear to all of us. A sensitive and intense man.”

There was something about the way she pronounced the word “sensitive” that made Alexandre’s nerves pulse with irritation. Everything in that house felt like a performance, an ill-rehearsed attempt to mask discomfort with empty words of comfort.

“Thank you, Ana Júlia,” Alexandre said, cutting her off sharply. “I hope we can have a more... direct conversation about what really happened to him.”

Ana Júlia laughed softly, almost as if she were flirting.

“Of course, I’m at your disposal for anything you need, Alexandre,” she said, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

But what Alexandre was really looking for wasn’t there. His gaze continued to scan the environment, searching for someone specific. Leandro had mentioned, in their last conversations, the name of a woman: Anita Silva. A maid at the mansion, apparently close to his brother. But she wasn’t there to greet him. And that immediately caught Alexandre’s attention.

“Aurora,” Alexandre said, turning to the matriarch. “Leandro mentioned someone in our last conversations. A woman named Anita Silva. He seemed to talk about her frequently. Why isn’t she here today?”

The silence that followed his question was instant and revealing. Aurora seemed to hesitate for a moment, and Alexandre noticed how Ana Júlia and Murilo exchanged quick, almost imperceptible glances.

“Anita...” Aurora began, her voice a bit more tense. “She’s not here at the moment. She had to take care of some personal matters. Nothing related to Leandro’s death, of course.”

Alexandre narrowed his eyes. Aurora was trying to be casual, but the mention of Anita clearly unsettled her. Something more was going on.

“She was close to Leandro, wasn’t she?” Alexandre pressed, keeping his tone neutral but firm.

Aurora seemed to struggle to maintain her composure.

“Yes, they got along well. But nothing... out of the ordinary. She’s an excellent employee, but I don’t think she has any relevance to what happened.”

Alexandre kept his eyes fixed on Aurora for a few seconds, observing every micro-expression on her face. She was hiding something, and he knew it.

“I’m glad to hear that was all,” he said, breaking the silence with a carefully planned response. “Still, I’d like to speak with her when she returns. Perhaps she can give me a different perspective on Leandro’s state of mind.”

“Of course, as soon as she returns, you can speak with her,” Aurora said, emotionless, clearly trying to close the subject.

Alexandre simply nodded, but he knew that Anita’s absence was no coincidence. He was more certain than ever that the truth behind his brother’s death was deeply rooted in that place, and the Fosters were hiding much more than they were willing to admit.

As the hours passed, the atmosphere in the Foster mansion remained dense and tense. Alexandre was introduced to a few more family members, all maintaining the same polished facade, but he could feel the discomfort his presence caused. No direct answers, no genuine feelings. Only empty formalities.

In time, Alexandre realized that while the Fosters tried to maintain a facade of mourning and solidarity, they were more concerned with what he might discover than with the grief over Leandro’s loss. This only reinforced his determination. Something had happened in that mansion, something much deeper and more sinister than anyone there was willing to admit. And he was determined to find out.