The lunchtime bustle at Granny's Diner was in full swing. Plates clattered, forks scraped against dishes, and the hum of chatter mixed with Ruby's quick banter as she darted between tables. The familiar, homey chaos of Storybrooke swirled around, but at the corner booth by the window, Regina Mills sat in serene detachment.

Regina always had an uncanny ability to make the mundane seem regal. Seated with perfect posture, she sipped her coffee as though it were a rare delicacy rather than Granny's standard brew. Her dark blouse, impeccably tailored to fit her figure, paired with a burgundy pencil skirt, gave her an air of effortless authority. It was a far cry from the jeans-and-boots aesthetic of most Storybrooke residents, but then again, Regina wasn't like most residents.

Across the diner, Emma Swan sat at the counter, toying with a half-eaten slice of pie and trying—unsuccessfully—not to look at Regina. She had no idea how her day had spiraled into this. What had started as an innocent coffee stop had turned into a growing compulsion to sneak glances at the former mayor, each one leaving her more flustered than the last.

It wasn't her fault, really. Regina had a way of commanding attention without even trying. Whether it was the glint of her silver bracelet as she reached for her coffee, the sharp line of her jaw as she turned her head, or the way her dark hair framed her face like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine—Emma couldn't help but look. Unfortunately for Emma, Regina was also disturbingly good at noticing when someone was staring.

The first time, Regina had glanced up abruptly, catching Emma mid-stare. Emma had whipped her head away so fast she nearly sent her plate of pie flying.

The second time, Regina's eyes had narrowed ever so slightly, a knowing glint in their depths. Emma had pretended to drop her napkin, disappearing under the counter in a clumsy effort to hide.

By the third time, Regina was clearly done humoring her.

"Sheriff Swan," Regina called out smoothly, her voice cutting through the diner's noise like a blade. "Is there something on my face? Or are you simply incapable of subtlety?"

Emma froze, fork midway to her mouth. The entire diner didn't stop, but a few heads definitely turned. She swallowed hard, glancing over to find Regina watching her with an arched eyebrow and a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

"Oh, uh, no!" Emma blurted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "No, nothing on your face. You're—you're good. Everything's fine. Totally normal."

Regina's smirk deepened, and she tilted her head, leaning back in her seat like a queen enjoying her court jester. "Then what, may I ask, has you so utterly fascinated?"

Emma's brain scrambled for an excuse, anything to explain her behavior that didn't involve admitting she'd been mesmerized by Regina's impossibly perfect existence. "I was, uh…" She cleared her throat. "I was just admiring your… outfit."

Regina's expression didn't change, but Emma swore she saw the briefest flicker of surprise in her eyes before the usual cool mask returned.

"My outfit," Regina repeated, drawing out the words like she was testing them for sincerity.

"Yeah!" Emma said, suddenly feeling as though doubling down was her only option. She gestured vaguely in Regina's direction. "I mean, you always look so, y'know, put-together. Polished. Like, uh… a fashion magazine or something."

Regina leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. "Go on."

Emma winced. Oh no. She had to think fast. "And, uh… I've been thinking that maybe I could, um, use some advice in that area? You know, since you're so good at it."

There was a beat of silence. Then another.

Finally, Regina's lips curved into a wicked smile. "You want fashion advice? From me?"

Emma nodded, hoping her overly eager expression could mask the sheer panic bubbling under the surface. "Yeah! That's it. Fashion advice. Totally why I was looking. Nothing else."

Regina regarded her for a moment, clearly enjoying watching her squirm. Then she leaned back, crossing her arms with a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Well, Sheriff, I must say this is a… surprising turn of events. But I suppose I could take pity on you and lend my expertise. Heaven knows your wardrobe could use it."

"Hey!" Emma protested instinctively, but the words lacked heat. She was too busy trying to figure out how she'd gotten herself into this mess.

Regina rose gracefully from her seat, smoothing down her skirt with practiced ease. "Come along, dear. Let's not waste time."

"Wait, what?" Emma blinked. "Now? You want to do this now?"

Regina's smirk was nothing short of predatory. "Why not? You came to me for help, didn't you? Or were you hoping to simply stare at me all day?"

Emma groaned, burying her face in her hands before reluctantly sliding off her stool. "Fine," she muttered. "But I swear, if you make me wear anything ridiculous…"

Regina's laugh was rich and smug as she strode toward the door, leaving Emma to trail behind her like a lamb to the slaughter.

The drive to Regina's mansion was oddly silent. Emma, who was usually full of sarcastic remarks, was uncharacteristically quiet, her hands gripping the passenger seat as if they could somehow anchor her thoughts. Regina, however, seemed perfectly content, her calm demeanor betraying nothing as she drove. The sun was low in the sky, casting a golden light through the trees lining the road to Regina's imposing estate.

Emma glanced at her from time to time, half expecting Regina to start teasing her again, but the former mayor was too busy navigating the winding streets of Storybrooke to pay much attention to Emma. Maybe it was a sign that things wouldn't be so bad, Emma reasoned. Regina would probably tell her how awful her clothes were, give her a couple of pointers, and then send her on her way. Simple.

At least, that's what Emma thought.

As they reached Regina's home, Emma was reminded once more of how out of place she felt in this world of luxury. The mansion loomed before her, an intimidating mix of stone and glass, every window reflecting the sunlight as though the building itself were some kind of gleaming fortress. Regina didn't wait for Emma to fully process the magnitude of her surroundings. With a confident stride, she made her way toward the front door, throwing a glance back over her shoulder. "Well? Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to come inside for your fashion lesson?" she asked, voice dripping with amusement.

Emma took a deep breath and followed her, stepping through the door and into the sprawling foyer. The air smelled faintly of lavender and leather, and the floors were so polished that Emma felt like she was walking on glass. She silently cursed her sneakers for not matching the level of elegance around her. She was just starting to wonder whether this had been a mistake when Regina turned and fixed her with a raised eyebrow.

"Ready for your wardrobe overhaul?" she asked, as if she were offering Emma a glass of wine rather than a challenge to her very sense of self.

"Let's just get this over with," Emma said, although her tone lacked any real conviction. Her stomach was doing flips as she followed Regina up the staircase.

Regina led her into a massive walk-in closet that could have been a room in itself. Rows upon rows of neatly hung dresses, skirts, blouses, and jackets filled the space, each more meticulously arranged than Emma could ever imagine. The air was crisp with the faint scent of expensive perfume and fresh fabrics. It felt like stepping into a dream—an overwhelming, intimidating dream where Emma was most certainly the underdressed nightmare.

"You'll have to trust me if this is going to work," Regina said, her voice slipping into something more commanding as she turned back toward Emma. "I know what I'm doing."

Emma raised her hands in mock surrender. "Yeah, okay, sure. Let's see what you've got."

Regina smirked at her response, clearly not taking Emma's sarcasm seriously. "This isn't a suggestion, Emma," she said with a touch of amusement in her voice.

Before Emma could protest, Regina was already rifling through her selection of clothes, pulling out items with the ease of someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

"Try this," Regina said, holding out a perfectly fitted, crimson blouse. "It'll make your eyes pop."

Emma took the blouse, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I don't know if I'm ready to pop anything," she muttered under her breath, but Regina's sharp gaze caught it.

"I assure you, you'll be doing just fine," Regina said, her tone cool but firm. "Now, if you please, get changed."

"Here? In front of you?" Emma asked, wide-eyed, suddenly aware that Regina's idea of "fashion advice" was about to take a very personal turn.

Regina's expression was almost a challenge as she crossed her arms. "Do you want to leave or do you want my help? It's really that simple."

Emma bit her lip, and though the thought of changing in front of Regina made her stomach do somersaults, she nodded. "Fine. I can handle this."

"You're the one who insisted," she said smoothly, and Emma shot her a side-eye that was lost on the taller woman, who was already pulling more clothes from the racks.

Emma tugged off her leather jacket and jeans, standing in front of the mirror in nothing but a tank top and light blue underwear. The space felt too big, too grand, and her own reflection seemed a little too… vulnerable in the face of Regina's overpowering presence.

"Do hurry," Regina called from behind the screen. "We don't have all day, and I suspect you'd rather move on to the next item on the list than stand there making faces at yourself in the mirror."

Emma swallowed hard, half-wondering if she could just sneak out and run for the hills, but when she turned, wearing the crimson blouse and dark slacks, Regina's gaze softened just a fraction.

"Well, that's a start," Regina said. "But it's too casual. You need something that brings out more of the you you pretend not to care about."

Emma tilted her head. "What do you mean by that?"

Regina walked over, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor with purpose. She gently adjusted the collar of the blouse Emma had chosen, her fingers brushing Emma's skin as she did. It was a small thing—so subtle, so seemingly insignificant—but Emma's heart skipped a beat. Regina's proximity was making everything more charged than she'd ever expected.

"Look at you," Regina said, her tone softening slightly, her fingers lingering just a moment too long on the fabric of the blouse. "You wear the Sheriff badge like armor, but beneath it… beneath it, I think there's someone who wants to be seen. Understood. Someone who deserves to be admired."

Emma's breath caught in her throat, unsure whether it was the weight of the words or the way Regina had delivered them that left her speechless. She quickly recovered, but the blush creeping up her neck gave her away.

"Uh, you know, I didn't really come here for a therapy session," Emma muttered, trying to mask her nervousness with humor.

Regina's lips curved in a small, knowing smile. "No? Well, I do find it difficult to resist helping someone in need, particularly when their wardrobe is in dire condition."

Before Emma could respond, Regina was already pulling out the next outfit—a sleek, tailored jacket, a pair of designer trousers, and an elegant silk scarf. "Try this next. It will show off the fact that you are in charge, but without the intimidating factor. Keep the blouse on."'

Emma glanced at the clothes with trepidation but, against her better judgment, she took them from Regina. "If you say so, your highness," she grumbled under her breath, stripping her clothes off once more. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

But one thing was certain: Regina Mills wasn't just handing out fashion advice. She was taking control of more than Emma's wardrobe, and the longer they stayed in that bedroom, the more Emma realized it was going to be a lot harder to resist the pull of Regina's influence than she'd ever imagined.

Regina's sharp gaze never left Emma as she continued to assess the fit of the crimson blouse. There was a moment of tension in the air—one that Emma could feel tightening the space between them. Regina's eyes flicked over Emma's attire, considering how to move forward.

"Well, that blouse fits you… but it's not quite right," Regina said, her voice measured but firm. Without missing a beat, she stepped forward, her heels clicking against the floor with each calculated step. She reached for the buttons of Emma's blouse, and Emma froze, unsure of what to expect.

Regina's hands were steady and deliberate as she began undoing the buttons one by one. She moved with a calm precision, each motion slow and purposeful. Emma's breath caught slightly as Regina's fingers brushed over her skin. Regina was meticulous, taking her time as she moved from one button to the next.

"Relax, Emma," Regina said, her voice soft but commanding as her eyes locked with Emma's. "I'm only helping you find something more fitting. You wanted fashion advice, didn't you?"

Emma swallowed, nodding stiffly. She hadn't expected the process to feel so intimate, so charged, but she couldn't deny that there was a quiet authority in Regina's touch that made her nervous in a way she wasn't used to.

With the blouse now open, Regina stepped back, glancing over Emma with approval. She made a small noise in the back of her throat before reaching for the next shirt hanging in the closet—a soft, pale blue button-up with a subtle pattern.

"Now this will do," Regina said, offering it to Emma. "I want to see you in this next. It will give you a more polished look, and it's still comfortable enough for you to move in."

Emma took the shirt, her fingers brushing against Regina's as she did. There was a lingering feeling in the air, but she tried not to dwell on it. She quickly turned and let the opened blouse fall from her shoulders, half in relief and half in discomfort. Regina had already moved on to the next outfit, her confident composure never wavering.

Emma pulled the shirt on, the fabric soft against her skin, and stepped back into view. Regina gave her a careful look-over, her eyes tracing Emma's frame as though she were admiring a piece of art.

"It suits you," Regina said, her tone both approving and playful. Carefully she picked up the blazer, handing it to Emma. "See? I do know what I'm doing."

Emma let out a small laugh, trying to lighten the moment. "Yeah, you've got a whole wardrobe wizardry thing going on."

Regina smiled, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction. "You should know better than to doubt me. But we're not done yet, Emma. You still have a lot to learn."

Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes, though a small part of her found herself intrigued by what else Regina might have in store.

Emma shifted awkwardly in the pale blue button-up, tugging at the cuffs as Regina circled her like a hawk. "I don't know how you wear this stuff every day," she muttered, glancing at herself in the mirror. "It's so… stiff. Doesn't it drive you nuts?"

Regina paused mid-step, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Unlike you, dear, I don't measure my wardrobe's success by how well it survives a back-alley brawl."

Emma scoffed, crossing her arms. "Excuse me for prioritizing function over… whatever this is." She gestured vaguely at the sleek, professional look Regina had just outfitted her in. "And let's not even get started on the death traps you call heels."

Regina smirked, stepping closer—so close that Emma instinctively leaned back. "Ah, yes, heels. A concept you've avoided like the plague, I see." Her voice was teasing, but her eyes gleamed with something sharper. "Heels aren't death traps, Emma. They're a tool. They command presence, demand respect. Of course," she added with a sly grin, "they're not for everyone. They require a certain… grace."

Emma's jaw dropped, her indignation flaring. "Hey, I'm plenty graceful! I've saved this town in a pair of boots, thank you very much. Practical ones, by the way."

"Practical," Regina repeated, drawing out the word as though it offended her. "If your red leather jacket and scuffed boots are what you call 'practical,' then I shudder to imagine what you consider fashionable."

Emma flushed, pointing a finger at her. "First of all, my jacket is iconic. Second, the boots are—"

"—Loud. Gaudy. And clearly from some kind of discount apocalypse collection," Regina interrupted smoothly, taking another step forward. Her proximity was disarming, and Emma struggled to focus on her words when she could practically feel the heat of Regina's presence.

"Okay, ouch," Emma muttered, running a hand through her hair. "You don't have to go that hard on my boots."

Regina's lips quirked into a smirk as she reached out, brushing an imaginary speck of lint from Emma's shoulder. "I'm only being honest, dear. But if you must know, I find your loyalty to that red leather rather… endearing."

Emma blinked, thrown off by the subtle shift in Regina's tone. "Endearing?" she repeated, her voice catching slightly.

"Hmm," Regina hummed, tilting her head. "There's something almost… charming about your stubborn refusal to evolve." Her eyes locked onto Emma's, lingering there for a moment too long. "But even you must admit that some evolution is necessary."

Emma swallowed, her usual bravado slipping as she found herself lost in Regina's gaze. "I mean… I guess," she stammered, her cheeks heating. "Doesn't mean I'm giving up my jacket, though."

"Of course not," Regina replied, her tone teasing but her expression thoughtful. "We wouldn't want to strip you of your signature look."

Emma opened her mouth to retort, but the words tangled somewhere in her throat as Regina moved even closer, reaching past her to retrieve a scarf from a nearby rack. The motion brought them nearly shoulder to shoulder, and Emma's breath hitched when she caught a faint hint of Regina's perfume—warm, sophisticated, and utterly distracting.

"I think this will work," Regina murmured, holding up the scarf for inspection. Her voice was low and deliberate, and Emma could feel her pulse quickening.

"Y-yeah," Emma managed, though she wasn't entirely sure what she was agreeing to.

Regina's eyes flicked to Emma's, a knowing glint in them. "Careful, Sheriff. You're blushing."

Emma's hand immediately flew to her face, and Regina let out a soft chuckle, clearly enjoying herself. "I'm not—"

"You are," Regina interrupted, her smirk widening. She stepped back just enough to give Emma room to breathe but not enough to fully break the spell. "But don't worry. It suits you."

Emma groaned, tugging at her collar. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And you're predictable," Regina shot back, still holding the scarf. "Now hold still."

Before Emma could protest, Regina stepped closer again, lifting the scarf and carefully draping it around Emma's neck. Her fingers brushed against Emma's skin as she adjusted the fabric, the touch light and deliberate.

Emma tried not to shiver, focusing on literally anything else—the ornate wallpaper, the polished wood floor, the faint ticking of a nearby clock. But it was impossible to ignore Regina's steady hands or the way her gaze seemed to linger on Emma's face longer than strictly necessary.

"There," Regina said finally, stepping back to admire her work. "You look almost… presentable."

Emma let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, forcing a lopsided grin onto her face. "Almost? Gee, thanks."

Regina arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Emma's attempt at deflection. "Don't get used to it, dear. You still have a long way to go."

Emma couldn't tell if Regina was talking about her wardrobe or something else entirely, but the way she smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips—left Emma both flustered and intrigued.

"Fine," Emma muttered, breaking eye contact before she completely lost her composure. "What's next?"

Regina smirked, stepping back toward her closet. "Oh, we're just getting started."

And Emma, for all her bravado, wasn't entirely sure she was ready for whatever Regina had in store.

Emma tugged nervously at the hem of the midnight blue dress Regina had chosen for her. The fabric clung to her in all the right places, the open back leaving her shoulders exposed, and she could feel the cool air brushing her skin. She stood awkwardly in front of the full-length mirror, avoiding Regina's piercing gaze.

"It's too… much," Emma muttered, barely managing to get the words out.

Regina, standing behind her, tilted her head in mock disapproval. "Nonsense. It's stunning, and it fits you perfectly." Her tone was light, but her eyes were intent as they swept over Emma's reflection. "You should really stop hiding behind those bulky jackets and scuffed boots. You're much more striking than you give yourself credit for."

Emma's cheeks flushed a deep red, her fingers fidgeting with the straps. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly going to be chasing down suspects in this," she said, her voice cracking slightly.

Regina's lips curved into a sly smile as she took a step closer, closing the space between them. "Oh, please. If anyone could make this dress work while apprehending a criminal, it would be you." She leaned in, her fingers lightly brushing the back of the dress as she adjusted the fabric. Emma stiffened at the contact, her breath catching in her throat.

"Relax, Sheriff," Regina said softly, her voice dipping into something warmer. "You're tense. Why is that?"

Emma's mind raced, but she tried to play it cool. "I'm not tense," she lied, her voice uneven. "Just, uh… not used to wearing stuff like this."

Regina chuckled, the sound low and melodic. "Oh, I believe that. But I don't think that's the real issue here."

Emma's heart pounded as she felt Regina's gaze on her, sharp and knowing. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her tone defensive.

Regina stepped around to face her, folding her arms and fixing Emma with a pointed look. "Come now, Emma. Let's not pretend. I caught you staring at me at Granny's this morning. Multiple times."

Emma's face turned scarlet, and she opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out.

Regina's smirk widened as she took another step closer, their proximity almost overwhelming. "Fashion advice, was it? Do you really expect me to believe that's why you came here?"

"I—" Emma stammered, her hands flailing as she tried to find a convincing response. "I was… I mean, you've got good style, and I—" She groaned, cutting herself off. "Okay, fine!"

Regina arched a brow, clearly enjoying every second of Emma's discomfort.

"I panicked, alright?" Emma blurted, her words tumbling out in a rush. "You caught me looking, and I didn't know what to say, so I just made something up. And yeah, maybe I wasn't looking at your clothes. Maybe I was looking at… you."

The room fell silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance. Emma rubbed the back of her neck, her face burning. "There. You happy now?"

Regina blinked, her expression unreadable for a moment before her lips curved into a slow, mischievous smile. "Very," she said smoothly, her voice soft but laced with amusement.

Emma's eyes snapped up, her breath hitching. "Wait, what?"

Regina took another step forward, close enough now that Emma could feel the heat radiating from her. "Oh, Emma," she said, her tone both teasing and sincere. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice? I'm not blind, dear. And frankly, I've found your attempts to avoid the truth… quite charming."

Emma gaped at her, struggling to process the words. "You—you're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" Regina asked, tilting her head. "If anything, I find your flustered honesty rather endearing."

Emma let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of her head. "Well, great. Glad my awkwardness is entertaining for you."

Regina's smirk softened into something gentler as she reached out, adjusting the strap of the dress on Emma's shoulder. "Oh, it is. But you should know, Sheriff, you don't have to come up with elaborate excuses to spend time with me. Next time, just ask."

Emma blinked, stunned. "Wait… next time?"

Regina chuckled, stepping back and folding her arms. "Of course. Unless you'd prefer to continue this charade of fashion consultations?"

Emma groaned, burying her face in her hands. "God, no. I think I've had enough wardrobe criticism for a lifetime."

Regina smirked, walking over to the closet and retrieving a leather jacket that somehow managed to look both sleek and edgy. "In that case, you'll be leaving in this outfit," she declared, holding out the jacket. "Consider it a gift. A reminder of today's… progress."

Emma eyed the jacket suspiciously. "Is this your way of saying I need all the help I can get?"

"Not at all," Regina said, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "It's my way of saying you look good in blue."

Emma hesitated but eventually took the jacket, shrugging it on over the dress. "Thanks, I guess. For the… lesson."

As she turned to leave, Regina's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Emma," she called, her tone deceptively casual. "Next time, I might model a few outfits for you. Wouldn't that be fair?"

Emma froze, her brain short-circuiting as she turned back to stare at Regina, who was watching her with a smug, satisfied smile.

"You… you're kidding, right?" Emma managed, her voice an octave higher than usual.

Regina's smile deepened as she walked past Emma, opening the door for her. "Perhaps," she said cryptically. "You'll just have to wait and see."

Emma stumbled out of the room, her face burning as she muttered something incoherent. Regina's soft laughter followed her as the door closed, leaving Emma with nothing but her racing heart and a newfound determination to figure out exactly what she'd just gotten herself into.