WITCH-LOG

The Ringstone mansion stood radiant under the night sky, its majestic façade illuminated by the soft glow of artfully placed lights.

The mansion itself was a symbol of power, one that had stood the test of time and emerged stronger, and more imposing with each passing generation. The well-polished and pale marble stairs leading up to the grand entrance shimmered under the glow of the lanterns, giving the impression that anyone stepping onto them was embarking on a journey not just toward wealth, but to some grand pantheon of success—a modern Valhalla for titans of industry.

The terrace, perched elegantly just beyond the entrance, awaited any guest deemed worthy enough to enter. It was a lavish sight, with a deliberate and calculated beauty that spoke of meticulous planning and an eye for grandeur. Marble columns stood like sentinels, proud and timeless, while exquisite statues and decorative pots of exotic flowers lent an air of refinement. Between them, crystal-clear fountains and calm ponds created a sense of tranquility amidst the splendor. The lanterns, perfectly positioned, cast a soft golden light over the entire terrace, allowing each guest to feel as though they were walking through a masterpiece rather than simply a space.

Beyond this grand spectacle, one could feel the energy emanating from within, where the true heart of the night lay: a gala of unparalleled luxury and opulence.

Inside, the grandeur of the mansion was even more breathtaking. Every detail, from the silk-draped curtains to the gold-framed chandeliers that hung high above the bustling crowd, was chosen to impress, to dazzle, to remind the guests of their place in this elite circle. The chandeliers, with their crystal candle-style lights, shimmered like stars suspended in a soft, warm glow, adding an ethereal quality to the already elegant space.

They cast their light over the grand staircases, each with ornate railings, whose intricate designs invited admiration from those who ascended them. Guests, wrapped in glamorous gowns and tailored suits, moved up and down the stairs like figures in a living painting, each one as polished and poised as the mansion itself.

Everywhere the eye could turn, there was something to admire. The walls, a polished, pristine white, were adorned with masterpieces from renowned artists, some of which had been passed down through the generations. Sculptures of mythological figures stood proudly in corners, while the furniture—antique yet flawless—added an extra touch of sophistication to the space. The ballroom, with its gleaming dance floor, was already filled with the crème de la crème of society, swaying gracefully to the sound of a live orchestra that played a melodic symphony from the far end of the hall.

The atmosphere was alive, buzzing with the soft hum of conversations and the clinking of crystal glasses. Waitstaff, dressed in immaculate uniforms, weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, moving so seamlessly that they seemed to float. The guests were no less impeccable, each one dressed to impress, their faces adorned with polite smiles, though the undertones of competition and intrigue were ever-present. This was, after all, not just a social event—it was a battlefield of influence, power, and opportunity, with every word spoken and every glance exchanged a calculated move in the game of high society.

As the festivities continued, a shift occurred.

Eyes began to subtly gravitate toward the grand staircase, where a figure appeared, commanding attention without uttering a word.

She moved with a natural grace, her long, flowing raven hair cascading in soft waves down her back.

Dressed in a deep purple evening gown that shimmered under the chandelier light, Victoria Ringstone was a vision of power and elegance. Her gown, tailored to perfection, hugged her athletic frame, accentuating her statuesque height of 5'8". But it was her eyes, those piercing pitch-black eyes, that truly captivated the room—eyes that seemed to draw people in, holding their gaze with a confidence that few could match.

The subtle murmur of conversation quieted as she raised a delicate hand, in which she held a glass filled with dark, rich wine.

The soft clinking of glasses and the faint sound of footsteps halted, and for a moment, the ballroom existed in perfect stillness, all eyes on her. The glass she held, seemingly an ordinary vintage wine glass, contained the world's finest wine, poured from the oldest series known to mankind—a silent testament to her power and influence. To her, it wasn't a matter of how she obtained it but why.

Tonight, that reason would be made clear.

Her voice, soothing yet commanding, cut through the silence.

"I see that you've all enjoyed tonight's little festival"

She began, her tone laced with amusement. A few guests smiled knowingly at one another, recognizing the subtle authority in her words.

"But before we indulge in tonight's main courses—specially prepared to cater to every one of you—I will take this time to celebrate what we all know."

Her eyes glinted with satisfaction as she watched the anticipation build in the room. The power she wielded wasn't just in her words but in the way she controlled the room, the way she commanded respect with every glance and gesture.

"Tonight, we celebrate the acquisition of our longtime rival, Meyers Inc."

The statement was delivered with a calm certainty that only someone in her position could muster. Cheers erupted from the crowd, breaking the tension that had built during her speech.

She raised her glass higher, her gaze sweeping over the assembled guests.

"Tonight, we celebrate not just a victory, but a testament to our vision and relentless pursuit of excellence. In the business world, there is no room for weakness or hesitation. We must be as calculating as we are ambitious and as ruthless as we are resilient. Here's to our success and the future we will shape together."

With that, the crowd erupted in cheers once more, glasses raised high in unison.

The clinking of crystal echoed through the ballroom as the guests toasted to their shared success, their admiration for Victoria palpable. As the music resumed and the servers began to emerge from the side doors with trays of gourmet dishes, Victoria allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction. She twirled the glass of wine in her hand before downing its contents in one graceful motion.

The ball was back in full swing. Guests danced, laughed, and conversed, but none could help themselves from glancing toward Victoria, still standing at the top of the staircase, her presence undeniable. She handed her empty glass to a passing server, a small nod of acknowledgment exchanged between them before she began to make her way toward the formal dining room.

As she sat at the end of the long, ornately decorated table, her posture remained impeccable, her expression composed.

Around her, the most distinguished guests of the evening were seated—CEOs, CFOs, and high-ranking officials from industries ranging from finance to technology, each vying for her attention in their own subtle ways. Yet, despite their status, they approached her with caution. Victoria Ringstone was no ordinary businesswoman. Conversations with her were more than just professional exchanges—they were battles of wit and strategy, and few dared to engage her without being fully prepared.

The dining room itself was a masterpiece of aboundance. The table, set with fine china and silver cutlery, sparkled under the glow of candlelight. Each course was a work of art, from the filet mignon with red wine reduction to the lobster thermidor, served on golden plates. The wine, aged to perfection, flowed freely, and the waitstaff moved swiftly to ensure that no glass remained empty for long.

As the guests enjoyed their meals, they exchanged polite conversation, but the weight of Victoria's presence loomed over them. Most were content to observe her from a distance, marveling at the woman who had single-handedly transformed the business world. She was a force of nature—cold, calculated, and ruthless in her pursuit of success. For some, she was an inspiration. For others, a warning.

Victoria herself was lost in thought, her fork paused halfway to her lips. The meal, though delicious, was secondary to the thoughts swirling in her mind. She tapped her lower lip with her index finger, a habit she had developed when deep in thought. The acquisition of Meyers Inc. was only the beginning. There was much more to be done—alliances to be secured, enemies to be outmaneuvered.

As she glanced around the room, her gaze fell on a group of lesser-known guests, their flashy attire standing in stark contrast to the understated elegance of the more prominent figures. They were desperate, she could tell—newcomers to the world of high business, eager to make connections and curry favor. Victoria's lips curled into a sneer.

Weak, pathetic. They lack the intelligence to rise on their own and instead cling to the powerful in hopes of gaining a scrap of influence.

She took another sip of her champagne, the cold liquid soothing her growing hunger. But even the weak had their uses. Information, rumors, tasks too small to bother the true players of the business world—these desperate souls could be easily manipulated, their desire to please a tool in her arsenal.

Another flash from a photographer's camera illuminated the room, and Victoria's smile widened.

Let them come to me. Let them believe they can win me over. In the end, I will use every single one of them to my advantage.

The evening continued, but for Victoria, the celebration was over. There was work to be done, and her mind was already planning the next move in her relentless pursuit of power.