The steady thud of his axe against the wood he was chopping brought a sense of peace with every swing. He had been a soldier since he was 18 and spent the next 22 years in the military.

He had been an SAS soldier, a damn good one, fighting in some of the most remote and dangerous places in the world. His life was defined by violence, his career driven by the chase and blood. There was no definitive timeline when he had to retire from the military, to give up the bloodshed he’d inflicted on his targets.

However when he was on the cusp of his 39th birthday, he had sustained an injury that permanently retired him from military service. There was a scar left behind that marred his skin, one of many, a reminder of what he had been through.

After his retirement the two of you had moved from the city to the countryside, buying a rural property. It was a change of scenery from the bustling city, the noise and chaos of the urban area that he’d called home.