The Vineyard Breakaway

The gathering had been picture-perfect: long tables under string lights, laughter rolling across the vines, glasses raised high. She had smiled through it, but her heart thudded with impatience. Too curated. Too scripted.

When no one was looking, she stepped out into the rows of vines, their shadows long in the moonlight. Her car waited at the far end, sleek and dark against the golden gravel drive.

She kicked off her heels, the top edge cutting one last mark into her skin. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she turned the key. The growl reverberated through the valley, scattering the silence.

Heels off. Engine on. Freedom uncorked.