Regina's PoV

I took a long swig from my bottle of beer, while looking around me, my eyes landing on every detail of the dimly lit bar. I noticed some girls laughing at the table next to me; some of them were really hot. There were a lot of empty tables, but the few people distributed by the place were talking and laughing out loud, in sounds that made me a little envious; I wasn't the most sociable person in the world, and no one showed the slightest interest in sitting with me. It looked like I pushed people away, I realized, sighing.

I pulled these thoughts away from my head. I wasn't there to have fun, anyway. I was there to get close to Emma Swan, the savior, the only thing that could interrupt all my plans, and, therefore, the one I had to eliminate. And, of course, I knew that the easier way to someone's death was through its bed.

I took my phone from my pocket and stared the clock. 10 pm. I began to fear she wouldn't appear, but I had investigated well, tracking every step of my potential enemy – I was totally sure she would be there that night, searching for a job as a bartender. I took a small mirror from my purse, to retouch the lipstick. I was only hoping that our age difference – ten years, not counting the years I had been frozen in time – didn't prevent her to fall for me.

Then the door was opened and she entered – I recognized her as the girl from the orphanage's record immediately. Wearing a tattered white coat over a striped dress, big eyeglasses and a leather purse hanging on her shoulder, she had a scared and beautiful face – her green eyes were shining like emeralds, even under the low light of the place, as well as her blonde hair.

Emma went to the counter and introduced herself to the bartender. She took a paper form her purse while talking to him, a supplicating look in her eyes. As expected, her request was denied by the man, and even though she tried to conceal, she seemed really disappointed. I heard her asking for a margarita and got up from my chair, ready to start playing.

-It's too cold for a margarita, don't you think? – I asked her. I was terrible with romances, but I tried to sound the most confident and seductive I could.

I received a frightened look in response, but I wouldn't give up. I pulled the curriculum from her hand, and started making jokes about how she needed to learn to make a better one – to my surprise, she laughed, and asked me if I worked there. I said I didn't, and told her that I was the mayor of a small and distant town. She looked impressed, and soon we started chatting.

Reading the adjectives "independent, self-sufficient and practice" on her curriculum, I laughed and said I liked that in a woman – to make my intentions pretty clear. We introduced ourselves and drank together. She told me she was about to leave the orphanage where she lived, and seriously needed a job. I told her about my routine and stable life as the ruler of a tiny town, and said that, a lot of times, you need to forget what's right and what's wrong to survive. We talked for a long time, and i kinda liked Emma, even though that wasn't my intention – she didn't sound like a teenage at all. Bit by bit, the walls of her timidity were falling, as well as mine.

One hour later, we were on the dance floor, kissing each other and drinking champagne. On that night, I took her to the small apartment that I rented for my stay in Portland, and we had a night of crazy and wild sex. The other day, she woke up in my arms, telling me how good it was to spend a night not being alone.

After two weeks of uncompromising sex, we started dating. Emma moved to my rented apartment, and I taught her a new way to sustain herself: Stealing. I put Emma in a life of crimes, sleeping in stolen cars, feeding with stolen food, sometimes buying superfluous stuff with stolen money from any unlawful trafficking.

And I fell in love with Emma Swan. Every night before sleeping, I thought about the town I had to go back to, the plan I needed to execute, the woman I had to kill. But I always invented an excuse for not doing it; I always lied to myself just to postpone the moment that, deep down, I didn't want to come. At the beginning, all she made me feel was anger and hate – with her annoying stubbornness, Emma could really piss me off when she wanted to. But she also brought a new light to my life, aroused me feelings that I didn't have in a long time, gave me back that sensation of the adrenalin running through my veins, the heart racing of passion, and everything I kept myself away from feeling during years. I didn't want to kill her anymore, and in a few months, I completely forgot my initial plan. I tried to deny this to myself, tried to fight against this feeling, but before I could realize, I was in love with the person that was supposed to defeat me.

But nothing lasts forever. And a life of crimes could bring painful consequences. One day, we had an ugly fight because of a theft of illegal money – we discussed about who should be with the majority of it, how we were going to share it, or something of the sort. As if money was more important than what we had. With hateful words, we broke up almost as fast as we had started. I allowed Emma to keep the apartment, shared the money between us unwillingly, packed my bags and went back to Storybrooke, with tears flooding my eyes and the pain filling my heart. That was the second time I lost a great love.

And I never saw Emma Swan again.

In the following years, the only remnants from Emma in my life were in her son, Henry. The son she had with someone else, which also became my son.

Emma's PoV

I was watching a pretty boring program on television while I waited for Neal to arrive home with the wedding invitations. I looked through the window, watching the morning sun, when I heard the bell ringing.

I got up from the couch, still wearing my crumpled pajamas, dragging my fuzzy slippers through the ground.

- You took very long with these invitations – I said while opening the door, but it wasn't Neal who I faced on the other side. It was two people – a little boy smiling and a woman with dark hair that I didn't see in ten years. Stare at her face again scared the crap out of me.

- Pajamas, seriously? – said Regina, looking at me.

- Are you Emma Swan? - asked the boy. – My name is Henry. I'm your son.