Estranged

Chapter 4: Moonlit Turmoil

"I see fire - Ed Sheeran"

Darnell's pov

The night air was heavy with tension as I stormed out of the opulent ballroom, the echo of Dad's words still reverberating in my mind. The anger within me was a tempest, threatening to consume any remnants of joy left from my return home. The elegant facade of the Walton mansion seemed to mock my turmoil.

I needed space to breathe, to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions tearing through me. The sprawling estate gardens welcomed me with open arms, the moon casting its soft glow on the manicured lawns. The air was crisp, carrying the fragrance of blooming flowers, yet all I could feel was the bitter taste of betrayal.

Leaning against a marble pillar, I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the chaos inside my mind. The image of Natalie, the leech from my past, and the announcement of our arranged engagement played on a loop, each repetition fueling the flames of my resentment.

"Why Natalie?" I muttered to the silent night, as if expecting the stars to offer an explanation. The thought of spending my life with her, a person I associated with annoyance and intrusion, felt like a cruel joke. My heart, still raw from the wounds of thinking about parting from Miranda, now faced the prospect of a loveless union.

A distant rustle of leaves caught my attention, and I turned to see the moonlight dancing on the fountain's cascading water. The rhythmic sound was a stark contrast to the chaos within me. As if drawn by an invisible force, I made my way toward the soothing melody, the cold marble bench inviting me to unload the weight on my shoulders.

The night held a symphony of conflicting emotions. I grappled with the realization that my father, the architect of my success, was now orchestrating my personal life. The freedom I had tasted abroad was slipping away, replaced by the shackles of duty and tradition.

I stared at the rippling water, the moon's reflection shimmering on its surface. Each wave seemed to carry away a piece of my resolve, leaving behind a sense of resignation. The bitter truth lingered — I was bound by familial expectations, forced into a narrative not of my choosing.

In the solitude of that moonlit garden, my thoughts drifted back to Miranda. The love I felt for her, the dreams we had spun together, now seemed like fragile illusions. The anger that fueled my escape from the ball was gradually replaced by a hollow ache — a realization that the choices ahead would define not just my future, but the legacy of the Walton name.

The familiar chime of a distant clock reminded me of the passage of time. With a heavy sigh, I rose from the bench, my steps carrying me back to the imposing mansion. The night had become a silent witness to my inner turmoil, and as I entered the grand foyer, the echoes of my conflicted heart remained my only companions.

As I climbed the staircase, the weight of responsibility pressed upon me. The door to my room, once a sanctuary, now loomed ahead. I hesitated before entering, as if the walls held the secrets of a future I wasn't sure I wanted.

Inside the room, the dim light cast shadows on familiar objects — the bed, the desk, the walls that had witnessed my growth and struggles. I moved toward the window, gazing at the moonlit landscape beyond. The world outside seemed vast, filled with unknown possibilities, yet here I was, confined by the expectations of tradition.

A knock on the door interrupted my contemplation. My mother's gentle voice seeped through, "Darnell, may I come in?"

I opened the door, allowing her to enter. Her eyes, a mirror to my own, held a mix of understanding and concern. Without uttering a word, she embraced me. In that silent exchange, a complex web of emotions passed between us — a shared acknowledgment of the sacrifices woven into the fabric of our family's legacy.

As we pulled away, my mother spoke with a tenderness that belied the weight of her words, "Darnell, I know this is difficult, but sometimes we must tread the path chosen for us. It's not just about us but the legacy we carry. You have the strength to face whatever comes your way."

Her words, though filled with maternal comfort, offered little solace to the storm within. The room, once a cocoon of safety, now felt like a prison, and I longed for an escape that seemed increasingly elusive.

The moon continued to cast its ethereal glow, a silent spectator to the unfolding chapters of my life. As I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of duty settled upon me, and I drifted into a restless slumber, haunted by dreams that mirrored the conflicting realities of my waking hours.

Little did I know, the night held more than the hollowness of a moonlit garden; it held the promise of revelations and reckoning that awaited in the chapters yet to unfold.