Regina is a businesswoman. Owner of The Safe, an international security company, whose influential clients number in the hundreds. During her flight back to New York, she met Emma Swan, a mysterious and irritating young woman. Who was against all odds, of great help during the misadventures of her flight.

After an attempted murder against her, Regina's and Emma's roads are crossing each other again in unfortunate circumstances. Can Regina trust Emma ? What is behind this blonde with eyes always hidden behind sunglasses?

Hello everyone ! this is my first fanfiction so if you can be indulgent. I appreciate all the positive and negative comments. Tell me if the story tempts you so that I continue to write it, I already have the draft of the first 5 chapters so I should post regularly if the idea tells you.

Immediately the first chapter, it is a bit short to tater the ground

PS : English is not a native English speaker so bear with me plz =D

Thank you and good reading

She was late and she hated being late. For everything in life. This discipline was anchored in her with sharp remarks and back handed deprecations.

The sound of her heels echoed on the asphalt as she swarmed her way to the airport entrance. Of course, she would not run like a common citizen for fear of missing her plane. She is Regina Mills, one of the most influential women in the United States. Regina Mills does not run, she walks and by her step she commands respect. People run to fulfill her wishes, or sooner execute her orders. Except the tasteless woman she had to call because of the fact that her new ex-secretary was unable to find a seat for New York in first class whose arrival window was restricted to July 3rd, 2019. Yes Regina knew very well that the next day was the 4th of July. The national holiday of her adoptive country. This country which accepted her family with open arms and has allowed her to settle comfortably on the throne of power. Maybe it was not her dream of departure, but she vaguely remembered her dream departure.

With a quick and confident pace, Regina made her way past the tiny queue of Air France business class. Ignoring the disapproving looks, as well as the few grunts of columnless people who watched her walk almost unpeated, in her fitted black skirt suit and her white silk shirt that cost more than their monthly salary.

It was certainly not the first class, but she knew she would have to live with it. After a week spent in Paris, in order to complete a lucrative contract, the call she had been waiting for months was received. Mr. Gold has finally made his decision. The contract was going to be signed. After months of bowing and professional seduction, she had finally arrived to her ends. The contract with Mr. Gold was more lucrative than her last five customers combined. She could not afford not to be in New York for Independence Day. Of course she could count on this weird and disconcerting character to choose the 4th of July for signing the contract. Of course all flights to the United States were full by that date. Of course he expected her to cancel all her previous obligations to be at his service. It annoyed her to the point, but she could not show it. After 15 years in the field, she knew impertinently that the dress was indeed the monk, and that to project an image of power was paramount in this circle of vultures in which she evolved.

"Sorry Miss Mills but we have no seat available on the porthole for the business class of this flight. You can always ask one of the passengers, once on the plane, to exchange their place with you ".

The annoying voice of the counter attendant brought her out of her waking dream. It was only 10am, and she already had a hammer between her eyes. She could not repeat herself for the umpteenth time for fear of actually missing her plane. She had to choose her battles well. She salvaged her ticket and headed for the customs and then the boarding gate. The VIP treatment of the business class left something to be desired. Regina cursed herself for the 10th time since her awakening to not having had the presence of mind to keep the private jet in Paris. She would not have had to change secretary otherwise.

Once on the plane, she was immediately greeted by a redhead attendant whose legs seemed to stretch to infinity. The hostess professionally picked up her carry-on baggage and took her back to her seat 13B. At 13A was a blonde with curly hair falling on her shoulders, wearing a faded gray tank top sticking to her body like a second skin, and black slims jeans, with black and colored tattoo sleeves and ridiculous black aviator sunglasses on the nose. The unknown blonde was looking at the window, the situation would have been less amusing if the blind of the porthole was not closed. A glass containing a shaded liquid that Regina thought was whiskey or Scotch in the hand, and a leg that was constantly jumping. Fabulous ! She will have to share these long 9 hours close to what seemed to be a stressed junky.

"Miss ..." Regina still tried her chance to have her porthole side. "Miss ..." She repeated herself a second time, having had no reaction from her seat-neighbor the first time. After a spectacularly absent reaction, she was forced to do what she hated most -to touch another human being-, or in this case, the tattooed arm of her neighbor. The burst that followed could almost have made her smile if her mood was not so bad.

"Oh ... hello" was the blonde's idiotic answer.

"Yes Hello, would it be possible that we exchange our seats, there was no more place porthole side when I bought my ticket."

The blonde looked at her long behind her sunglasses, she was so slow to answer that Regina was almost going to repeat herself or to tear those damn glasses to give the blond a good slap on the face.

"Ok, as long as the blind stays closed"

"..." The brunette did not appreciate the answer accompanied by the cold smile of the tattooed stranger. But again, we could not blame her in this July 3rd, 2019 not to know how to choose her battles. She replied to the blonde with an even colder smile and pulled back to give her room to go out to exchange their places.

Once properly installed on the porthole, Regina could not help adding "With a little less alcohol may be that the blind could have been opened" while pointing to the glass, which had just been refilled by the stewardess. A sound barely louder than a whisper coming from the blonde's mouth and vaguely resembling "Bitch" was the blonde's only answer. Once again, Regina could not be faulted for not choosing her battles when her reply was limited to a raised eyebrow and gently putting her sleep mask on her eyes after warning the same redheaded hostess that she did not want to be disturbed under any circumstances during this flight.

The businesswoman rested her head against the wall of the plane and let herself be enveloped by a more or less deep sleep. After the long days spent in Paris chasing an insignificant contract, and the stress finally relaxed on Gold's decision and her own presence on the required date in New York, she was finally able to let fatigue, helped by sleeping pills, take the upper hand and sink into the world of dreams.

She was awakened with a start with the feeling of falling from the void, which in itself is surprising since this phenomenon happened to her, as for the majority of human beings, at the beginning of the sleep cycle normally. Checking the time on her Graff Diamonds watch, her suspicions were confirmed. She had fallen asleep for more than 2 hours. A glance to her left, brought her back to reality. Her seat-neighbor sipped another glass of Scotch, her sunglasses still on his nose. A beep announced that the seat belt warning lights were on, and the slight shaking suggested that the aircraft was passing through turbulent areas. A few seconds later, the voice of one of the crew members echoed in the plane, asking the passengers to buckle up their seat belts.

Regina blew a good blow. Of course ! even Mother Nature was leagued against her to prevent her from having a minimum of rest. She had never considered herself an aerodromophobic, because despite her fear of airplanes, by the nature of her work, few were the weeks when she was not supposed to take a local or international flight. But after 30 minutes of relentless and more or less disturbing shaking, and with the increased murmurs and barely veiled screams of other passengers, the businesswoman began to panic, slightly, maybe even a lot. The only object, or rather being, that left her vaguely anchored to a semblance of calm was her seat-neighbor. Quietly sipping her 100th glass of scotch gaze into the void toward the hallway. The end of the world, or rather of their world, could easily be close. The attitude of the blonde exasperated her to the highest point and ironically allowed her to attach a small thread fragile to the probabilities of such a scenario. Because statistically, and now everyone has heard about it, the plane is the safest means of transportation currently used by humans. She could not afford to think otherwise. She was not ready to leave this world yet, not before signing the contract with Mr. Gold. Not until he equaled the best customer her mother has closed since starting the business. She had never sought to have that power, that success, the importance she has in the eyes of others. This authority she displayed every minute of her new life, but she had to take it and learn it through great pain and sacrifice. It's not the end of the world, her tattooed neighbor did not believe it. And she did not too ! Her mantra was interrupted by the sudden falling of the plane. Her stomach was at her throat level, finally yes that was the end. The oxygen masks fell from the ceiling and she grabbed hers with a trembling hand. It was ironic really, all for nothing. To finish stupidly among the statistics of civil aviation victims.

She put the mask on her mouth and nose and forced herself to breathe slowly, a hysterical laugh seized her. What would be the use of a bloody oxygen mask when the plane is crashing at who knows thousand km per hour to the Atlantic. And there is no hope of crashing against a surface of water rather than the earth, because she knew that too. It's just as destructive. Thump thump, thump thump, she felt her heart beat in her ears. The mask was dysfunctional because she could not breathe oxygen Thump thump, thump thump. She started seeing black dots everywhere, she did not even feel the plane fall anymore. Then a hand on her arm and a "Hey ..." sound, she tried to look to where the sound came from and she saw her seat neighbor. The glasses on her head now, the piercing emerald look that was directed towards her. "Everything is fine, it's OK ..." she heard again. "The plane has stabilized now, everything is OK ..." the sound barely reached her ears, she could not breathe, the mask choked her instead of giving her the oxygen she was desperately looking for. As if reading her thoughts, a hand grabbed the mask and took it away. She vaguely heard an announcement from the pilot, and could not understand its meaning. "Inhale slowly with me, one, two, three, four, exhale ..." She tried to follow these simple guidelines, her look hypnotized by the blondes' eyes. "Here, once again inhale with me, 1, 2, 3 ..." The blonde repeated her instructions again and it was simple to inspire count expire the stars started disappearing little by little from her vision and she saw the hostess pass a glass of water to the blonde and with a worried look. The blonde gave her the glass back and encouraged her to drink a few sips. It was a good idea, her throat was dry. "Here you are again!" The blonde said with a smile. "We were worried for a moment". Regina Mills, owner and manager of The Safe, was reportedly boiling just for thinking of being so vulnerable. She would have insulted the person who was helping her and bluffed her way to a haughty facade in any circumstance. But having survived a plane "crash"/ scare, Regina Mills almost missed the lack of contact that the blonde has left by removing her hand from her arm. "Emma, Emma Swan ..." she heard again. Confused, she finally understood and answered "Regina Mills". The blonde smiled at her with a less icy smile then put her glasses on her nose. End of communication, Regina thought, rolling her eyes. She was almost disappointed. Which made her roll her eyes again. She had a panic attack because she thought she was dying. It was so ridiculous that she had to make a big effort not to burst out laughing. She refrains from it lest the hostess force her to take a Xanax.

The rest of the flight was silent for the businesswoman. She was taken several times by the desire to start the conversation with the blonde but she always stopped at the last moment. That was grotesque! she said to herself, she had it put on the account of curiosity and at no time to the result of a transfer created by the traumatic events she had just experienced. Aside from the sobs of a few passengers who, she presumed, they too had seen their lives go by in these few seconds of freefall.

The blonde was still sipping glasses of Scotch, and Regina wondered if she was not a known rock star who could afford to be ricocheted, alcoholic while having a seat in business class on Air France Paris New York on a 3rd of July. When the stewardess announced the imminent landing of the plane, sighs were heard everywhere. She could not blame them, she too, was eager to be on American soil, or any soil at this point.

Once the doors opened, the blonde sent her a "good evening" then rushed to the exit. Putting aside her absurd disappointment, she took her baggage from the red hostess who apologized while thanking her for choosing Air France. Leaving the airport was in a fog, the brunette finally breathed a breath of fresh New York air having seen Graham waiting for her by the car outside.