He Watched Me Shine Without Him novel Chapter 8

His grandfather had once forced a matchmaking candidate onto him, and Houston had brought her here. But as soon as she walked in, she started nitpicking—the building had no elevator, the decor was outdated—and then, sharp-tongued, told him she wouldn’t last a day in this dump.

But Houston had his principles. In the end, they parted ways.

Rose, with a warm and graceful smile, said, "This place is right in the city center, with great transport links—and it’s close to my job. I think it’s lovely."

She wasn’t just being polite. If she could accept a carless, houseless Ethan, then the husband she’d married on impulse, who had actually prepared a home for her, already far exceeded expectations.

"Come on in," Houston said.

Once inside, Rose immediately understood Houston’s earlier hesitation. It wasn’t just the outside that looked old—the interior decor was straight out of another era. Floral wallpaper, white-painted ceilings, wall panels around the TV, intricately carved rosewood furniture—every detail screamed vintage.

But despite the outdated styling, the layout had real charm. Elegant couplets hung on the walls, and the serene orchid garden extended out from the balcony in a way that was tasteful and refined.

As soon as Houston stepped inside, his gaze landed on the painting above the entryway—a family portrait, its edges softly blurred in an oval frame.

It was the only memory he had of a happy family.

Back then, his father had been young and dashing, his mother stunning and gentle, holding a toddler version of him in her arms—delicate, like a sculpture.

His mind drifted. He remembered how, just before the accident, his mother had held him tight. In her rambling final words, she’d expressed one fear above all: that he’d grow up scarred by the wreckage of their family—afraid to marry, unable to love, doomed to repeat her fate and end up broken and alone.

Houston’s eyes began to blur with tears. Mom… I brought my wife home. I think you’d like her. She’s not like you. She’s strong, optimistic, confident.

But what caught Rose’s eye wasn’t the painting—it was the quote framed beneath it: "Be the kind of woman who doesn’t flinch when the world gets ugly." The handwriting was bold and unapologetic.

Rose smirked. "Now that sounds like me."

Houston’s expression turned pale. He stared at her in a daze. Deep down, he’d always avoided women who reminded him of his mother. And when looking for a wife, he’d done the same.

So her comment genuinely startled him. "Rose, you’re not like her."

Rose smiled.

She knew better.

Dusting the table with her fingers, she found a fine layer of grit. Without a word, she slipped into the bathroom and returned with a mop and cloth.

Houston stood there dumbfounded.

She wore a sleeveless white cotton dress, her long hair braided to the side, tucked with a delicate pearl clip. She looked elegant, calm, and youthful all at once.

She moved quietly as she mopped and wiped, every gesture graceful.

In that moment, she reminded him so much of his mother.

Houston walked over and gently wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. His voice wavered slightly. "Rose, you don’t have to do this. I’ll hire someone to clean."

Sweat dotted Rose’s forehead, but her eyes sparkled like obsidian. "Houston, I sit in a clinic all day. Let me move a little."

Houston stared into her eyes—like galaxies, pure and bright.

And again, he thought of his mother—kind, resilient, and relentlessly hardworking.

A voice rose in his chest: Houston, you have to protect her.

"Do you like it here?" he asked.

Rose blushed, but her tone was both sincere and cheerful. "The decor’s a little dated, but the atmosphere is full of charm. I especially love that painting and the garden. It’s wonderful."

How could someone’s eyes be that deep? They’d only known each other a few days—why was he treating her like this?