I don't remember much of those two weeks.

I remembered the crying and the numbness.

Zoey visited me that same day. She listened to my wails and cried along with me. I think she stayed that night, I wasn't sure. I had lost track of time.

The funeral was a burr. Zoey got me showered, dressed, did my hair and makeup. Patrick got me through the rest. He held my hand and didn't let go during the service. He supported me at the burial. And stood by me during the wake, accepting people's condolences when I couldn't. I had become a numb, lifeless vessel for a soul that was crying out for her father.

After that, the days rolled into one. I couldn't tell if I was asleep or my eyes just refused to open and accept a life where my Pappa wasn't alive. Patrick sat with me a few times. I didn't see him but when he was in the room, everything felt different. Not better, just different.

Oscar was there at one point too, quietly arguing with Patrick in an attempt not to wake me.

"She's mourning," Patrick hissed under his breath.

"She has an empire to run," Oscar growled back, "get her out of that bed."

"No."

"No?" Oscar questioned, "Who do you think you're talking to? Show some respect, Boy."

There was silence. I wanted to support Patrick. I wanted to hit Oscar for speaking to him like that. But my prison wouldn't allow me to.

"Get, her, out, of, bed," Oscar growled, "you cannot be seen with a weak wife."

"The same wife you married me too," Patrick hissed, "what, Father? Now that you've seen how she handles hard times you realize she's not what you paid for?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Eliza made the connection that with our marriage, our wealth doubles," Patrick argued.

"She is a smart girl, too smart. She makes connections that aren't necessarily there," Oscar tried to cover.

"She, yes. Me, no. Unlike me, she doesn't know how your mind works, and yet she made these connections all by herself. Unlike me, she doesn't know that this isn't the first time you've done this sort of thing."

"How dare you excuse me of this?" Oscar growled, "Remember who your talking to? I have given you everything."

I heard Patrick scoff.

"Even a beautiful woman to sleep in your bed every night."

"You bastard," Patrick growled, "how dare you? There is nothing in this world that I haven't worked for or had parts of my soul removed to get. Even Eliza, I had to pay some sort of price. All to feed your greed."

"And I can see just how much you suffer by being with her," he hissed, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "what a painful life you must lead?"

Silence. Patrick didn't deny that he didn't like spending time with me nor did he say that he was in misery. But each moment that he remained silent the more authority Oscar regained over him.

"You get her out of bed and you get her under control," Oscar demanded.

"How many times must I remind you? She is my wife and I will do what I want with her," Patrick growled, "and I'll decide when she's ready to get out of bed."

The argument ended after that.

I don't know if it had been hours all days, but the next visitors I had were Antonio and Alberto.

"I don't know what to say," Alberto whispered.

"Your here to help," Patrick reminded him.

"She's asleep," Antonio stated.

There was a paused.

"Just do it," Patrick groaned.

I heard a thud, telling me that Patrick had probably pushed one of them.

"Ah, hi, Lizzy," Alberto started, sounding so uneasy.

"Hey," I croaked, lifting my head a little.

Alberto nodded, trying to think about what to say, "What's up?"

"Oh God," Patrick groaned as Antonio hung his head in disappointment.

"Sit down before you hurt yourself," Antonio scoffed at him, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

I shifted to my side, so that I could see him better. Unlike his younger brother, Antonio seemed to be more comfortable and wore a small smile.

"How you feeling, Lizzy?" He asked, causing my mind to think for the first time in days.

I shrugged, "I'm tired."

He nodded, accepting my answer. I thought at least one of them would question my answer, knowing that sleep was the majority of what I had been doing.

"Patrick told us, that Nickola told you about, our story," he started looking at his brother.

I nodded, "do you mind?"

Antonio shook his head, "no, I don't mind. But I think I - we know a little of what you're going through."

I nodded, agreeing. Their mother might not be dead, but she was definitely gone.

"I loved my Ma," Antonio stated, with a light in his eyes that shined brighter than the sun, "our father ran off with some, bimbo when Alberto and I were four so she raised us on her own. We were everything to her," he swallowed, "as we got older, we started to notice how much she struggled for money, to feed us. At first it was just petty crimes. Stealing food from shops, fancy shampoo that she couldn't buy for herself, a little cash to pay the rent," he explained, "she was so upset when we started getting involved with Isabella Delgado. She always said that money didn't mean anything and of course she was right, but -," he paused, "I hated seeing her suffer like she did."

"If you could go back, would you change it?" I asked him.

He was silent, thinking, "I don't know. Of course, I've asked the question since. I know if we had never gotten involved with Isabella, we would have starved. But, we would still have our Ma."

I nodded, understanding that.

"Of course, we blame ourselves. There's no denying it."

I believed him. I saw it in his eyes.

"Do you blame yourself for your father's death?" Antonio asked.

I was silent, licking my lips and forcing the tears back. Eventually, I nodded, knowing that my father would never have asked to be left alone if I hadn't called him and told him that I needed space.

"I can tell you now, that it wasn't. Whatever reason your father died, it had nothing to do with you," Antonio tried to convince me.

"You don't understand," I sniffed, "I told him that I wanted space. He died thinking that I didn't love him."

"He knew, my God he had to know," Antonio told me, taking my hand and giving it a good squeeze.

I used my other hand to wipe my tears and my already snot filled nose.

"I mean, why would you marry Patrick if you didn't love your father? You gave up your life for him. He knew you loved him."

I nodded, tears still streaming down my cheeks.

They left me soon after that, inconsolable. They left me alone, to deal with my grief and misery, praying that I would come out of it by myself.

Light. It hit like lightning and caused a pounding in my head like thunder. God, am I dead? Is this what heaven feels like?

"Get up, Eliza," Patrick ordered, moving around the room.

Nope, definitely not heaven.

Slowly, I managed to open my eyes to the piecing light that burst through the windows. Groaning, I turned to my belly and buried my head under the pillows, refusing to play along.

"Eliza, it's time to get up," Patrick ordered again, no more playing Mr Nice Guy.

"I don't want too," I moaned, hugging the pillows tight.

I frowned when I heard my wardrobe doors open and was curious enough to come out of my barrow.

"What are you doing?" I croaked.

"When Zoey was over, I asked her to buy you some suits that would fit you better than the one that Mrs Philips found," he answered truthfully, pulling out a nice light brown one before putting it back.

My brain was still in sleep mode and wasn't connecting the dots to what he meant.

Pulling out a black one, he threw it on the bed.

"Wear it," he ordered, pointing at it.

I frowned, "what for?"

"You're taking over your father's businesses today."

"What?!" I yelled, jumping to a seated position so that I was less vulnerable to his demeaning stance, "I-I can't do that."

"Of course you can, and you will," he said, more lightly this time.

I shook my head. No way, I couldn't. I wouldn't know where to start.

"N-no, why can't you do it?" I asked, avoiding his strong gaze.

"Because it's not my empire, it's yours. And while you've been asleep, people have been trying to take over it. Now, it's time to take control."

I remained silent, trying to keep my ground.

"I don't know anything about running a business, let alone several," I told him, hoping he would back down.

"I'll teach you," he stated, drowning my hopes as he searched through my underwear draw.

I was too depressed to care. I wasn't just afraid of taking over my father's empire. It was if I did, it meant that he was actually gone.

"No," I shook my heads, burying myself under the covers again, "I'm not going anywhere."

I heard Patrick sigh, as if he knew I was going to behave like this but had hoped I wouldn't. The doona was torn from my grip, causing me to cry out and hug my body to keep warm.

"I gave you time to grieve, now it's time to come back to real life, Eliza," he told me, continuing his tough love.

"My father is dead," I muttered under the pillow, my heart aching at every word.

"And how do you think he'll feel if he could see you now? What would the Eliza, I know feel?" he asked.

I frowned, moving out from under the pillow to look at his cold stone face.

"You don't know me," I corrected, hopelessly.

"I know you enough to know, that the old Eliza would do anything for her father. And she would stop at nothing to make sure that the memory of her father remains. How is that going to happen if you let other people take over his empire that he spent his lifetime building?"

I couldn't answer him, mostly because I knew he was right. But I couldn't get up, I couldn't do anything right now.

Patrick sighed, trying a new approach and sat down at the side of my bed. I moved over to the edge, looking into his understanding eyes. He mastered a small smile that I just couldn't, tucking a few stray locks of hair behind my ear.

"I understand that I'm asking the world of you right now, but you have to get up," he told me, caressing my cheek, "It's time to be the Queen."

I swallowed, trying to find what he saw, what everyone saw. What was it about me that made everyone think that I was this strong awaited Queen that would bring safety to all?

Knowing that Patrick would dress me himself if I didn't, I nodded, surprising him.

"Really?" he questioned.

I nodded, "Time to be the Queen."

Patrick left me to have a shower and get changed. Reluctantly, I stood from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, I forgot about the mirror and froze when I looked at myself.

It was a shadow of a person. My skin was dull from being inside for two weeks and my hair was a mattered mess. My eyes were red and puffy from crying and my lips were cracked. When I was undressed, I was surprised to see my ribs realizing that I hadn't eaten since the funeral. I must have lost a few pounds.

I had a quick shower but that was all I needed to feel slightly better than before. My hair was grateful for the wash and so was my skin, soaking up my vanilla body wash. With a towel wrapped around my body and another towel on my head, I moved back into my room.

The suit was actually quite nice. Definitely classier than what I would guess Zoey would go for. She had thought of everything. From the jacket, the blouse, the skirt and even the heels. I got dressed before moving over to my dresser mirror.

I froze in front of it, but for a whole new reason. I looked...older, smarter, different. I almost liked the new look.

The white blouse opened, revealing more collarbone and making my neckless stand out. The black jacket was a nice fit, the sleeves stopping at my wrists, like it was made for me. The black pencil skirt hugged at my hips, showing off my thin waist and coming down to the top of my knees. The black, shiny almond-toe heels added three inches to my height and made my legs look ten times more attractive covered in skin coloured panty hose. My hair flowed into wet curls over my shoulders, suiting the outfit. I looked ready even if I didn't feel it.

"Are you sure she's ready for this?" I heard Garrick's voice echo through the void when I got to the stairs.

"She's ready," Patrick reassured him, "even if she doesn't think she is."

With that little vote of confidence, I started my descend catching Garrick's eyes. Immediately, a smile spread across his lips, his eyes shinning bright.

"Oh yeah, she's ready," Garrick praised.

Patrick frowned before turning around and freezing. I felt my cheeks blush under his burning gaze, not sure what it meant exactly.

I stopped just before the end and shrugged, "Well? Am I a Queen?"

He struggled to contain a smile, licking his lips.

"You'll do," he told me, making me snort, "Yep, you'll definitely do."