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Forbidden Marriage?

A New Beginning in Thundarr Forest

The pressure in Thundarr City had reached its boiling point. Between Rita’s warnings, Cal’s suspicions, and Flint lurking in the shadows with dangerous knowledge, Faro knew the city was no longer safe—for him or for Ronda. Their love, reckless and tangled in secrets, had become too risky to survive among steel towers and bugged apartments.

One quiet dawn, before the city stirred awake, Faro and Ronda met at the Southbank Metro station. No words were exchanged, just a knowing look between them. Faro had his mountain bike, and Ronda wore a hooded cloak that covered her familiar face. Together, they slipped away from the chaos, riding the early transport line until it reached the outer border of the city. From there, they journeyed on foot and pedal toward the only place Faro truly called home—the wild and sacred Thundarr Forest.

Days passed. The trees grew denser, the air fresher. At last, they arrived at the hidden cave—the Cave of Falcon—where Faro had once discovered his destiny. Here, surrounded by the hum of nature and the whispers of his ancestors, Faro laid down his burdens. Ronda, shedding the weight of her past, found a strange peace in the quiet wilderness.

They lived simply. Hunting, gathering, and watching the stars together. There was no Clown Inc, no Cal, no city noise—just the song of birds and the warmth of each other’s company.

One evening, as they sat on a rock overlooking the fire-lit forest, Faro took Ronda’s hand. The flickering flames danced in her eyes.

“I want to make this right,” he said softly. “All of it. No more running. No more hiding.”

Ronda turned to him, eyes glistening with emotion. “You mean…?”

Faro nodded. “Let’s get married, Ronda. Here. Where it all began. Just us. No masks, no lies.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she embraced him. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

And so, under the ancient canopy of the Thundarr Forest, watched only by the stars and spirits of old Falcons, Faro and Ronda prepared to begin a new life—together.

But deep within the woods, a pair of eyes watched from the shadows… and Flint Faros smirked in silence.

Broken Vows and Burning Forests

Faro’s eyes fluttered open to the gentle drip of water echoing through the cave walls. The scent of moss and wild earth surrounded him. Beside him, Ronda slept peacefully, her hand resting against his chest. A smile formed on his lips as the warm light of dawn painted the stone with gold.

He sat up quietly, looking out from the entrance of the Cave of Falcon. The Thundarr Forest spread out before him, endless and alive. Birds chirped. The breeze whispered through the trees. For the first time in a long time, he felt free. At peace. Loved.

A soft voice stirred behind him. “Faro…”

He turned, and there she was—Ronda. Eyes half-closed, her long hair a mess from the night. She smiled up at him.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” she murmured.

He took her hand and kissed it. “Let’s stay. Forget the city. Let’s be together.”

She nodded. “Let’s get married.”

Faro’s heart soared. Everything was perfect.

But then—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

His eyes snapped open.

He was in the guest bedroom at Rita’s penthouse.

Alone.

The morning sun cut through the window sharply. His dream dissolved like smoke.

Reality came crashing in like a storm.

Just hours earlier, Ronda had whispered to him in that same room—after a night tangled in passion—that she was getting married to Cal within a month’s time.

She had looked away when she said it, guilt flickering in her eyes.

“I didn’t plan this, Faro… what we did. But the wedding’s already arranged. It’s happening.”

Faro couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened. The woman he loved—had always loved—was choosing his cousin, the billionaire heir, over him.

And she had chosen to tell him after they’d slept together again.

Now, lying in bed with sunlight burning his face, Faro clenched the sheets in his fists. The dream was gone. The forest was a lie. Ronda was going to marry Cal.

And all he could do… was sit there, with the ghost of her touch still on his skin.

Rita Faros stirred her tea slowly, the fine clink of the spoon against porcelain echoing through the quiet penthouse kitchen. Across the table, Faro sat slouched, his face unreadable, but his eyes tired — a blend of longing and frustration wrapped in sleepless haze.

She sipped from her cup, then looked at him over the rim.
“So,” she began, “have you decided what you’re going to wear to the wedding?”

Faro didn’t answer. He just stared into his own untouched tea.

Rita sighed, setting her cup down gently. “Faro… I know it stings. But moping around won’t stop her from marrying Cal.”

He flinched slightly at the name.

“That girl’s cold,” Rita continued. “But she’s not consistent. She follows the scent of power, not love. And with Cal… well, she sees a throne. But don’t be surprised if she still crawls back to your bed when the nights in that mansion feel too empty.”

Faro looked up sharply, shocked.

Rita smirked darkly. “I’ve been around longer than you, sweetheart. I’ve seen how people work in this city. Especially women like Ronda.”

He clenched his jaw but said nothing.

“Now,” she added, reaching for the paper fan by her side, “pick something nice to wear. Look sharp. Smile. Make her wonder what she’s really giving up.”

She leaned back, waving herself cool. “And if you’re still foolish enough to let her in again, at least make sure it’s you who’s in control this time.”

Without a word, Rita rose from her seat, her eyes locked onto Faro’s with a strange intensity. She stepped toward him slowly, almost like a trance, then leaned in. Before he could react, her lips met his in a deep, lingering kiss—full of heat, history, and unspoken desire.

As she pulled away, just inches from his face, her voice dropped to a whisper.

“What if… you married me instead?”

The air was thick with silence. Faro stood frozen, the echo of Rita’s lips still tingling on his own. Her green eyes, usually teasing, were now still—serious. She had just asked him something that shattered every line they weren’t supposed to cross.

“Would you like to marry me?” she had whispered, her voice like honey laced with venom.

Faro blinked, taking a step back, heart hammering.

“Aunty… you’re serious?” he asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

Rita gave a slight smirk, brushing a dark lock of hair behind her ear. She looked down at the floor, then back at him—vulnerable for a moment.

“I’ve never been more serious. You think I don’t see what you’re going through? The girl you love… throwing herself into the arms of your cousin for money and reputation. And you? Standing on the sidelines like you’re nothing.”
She stepped closer.
“You’re not nothing, Faro. You’re a Faros. And more than that—you’re a man who deserves to be wanted.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came.

“You said it yourself once… back in Thundarr Forest. You said I was the first woman you ever truly desired. Maybe it’s time we stop running from what we both feel.”

Faro turned away, pacing. His fists clenched.

“You’re Cal’s mother…”
“So?” she said sharply. “Cal has everything. The mansion. The company. Ronda. Why should he have me too?”

That last line cracked through Faro’s thoughts. He turned back to her, torn between morality and emotion.

“And what happens if I say yes?” he asked finally.

Rita smiled again—this time softer, but deeper.

“Then we stop pretending. And we burn the world if we have to. Together.”

He laughed, but it came out uneven, nervous.

“Rita… are you serious? You’re my aunt.”

Rita tilted her head with a coy smile, her fingers gently brushing his jaw.

“By marriage. And not anymore. You and I both know blood doesn’t tie us.”

Faro swallowed hard. His heart was pounding now, but whether from confusion, guilt, or excitement—he couldn’t tell. He looked away, trying to collect his thoughts, then back at her.

“You’re dangerous,” he finally said, almost in awe.
“So are you,” she whispered, stepping even closer. “That’s why we fit.”

Faro didn’t pull away.

Rita’s voice softened, wrapping around Faro like velvet.

“You know, Faro… if you married me,” she said, tracing her finger along his chest, “you could have everything you’ve ever wanted. Every fantasy… every secret desire you’ve buried deep.”

Faro’s breath hitched as she leaned in close, her lips brushing the edge of his ear.

“And this time,” she whispered, “it would all be legal.”

He stared at her, a storm brewing behind his eyes. The idea was insane—unthinkable. And yet, it pulled at something inside him, something dark, hungry, and long denied.

“You’re offering me the dream,” he murmured.

Rita smiled, sultry and sure.

“I’m offering you freedom, darling. From the lies. From pretending. You and me… no more secrets.”

Faro looked down at her red-painted lips, then into her green eyes, unsure whether he was on the edge of paradise or disaster.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

They both froze.

Rita narrowed her eyes, her voice sharp now.

“That better not be Ronda…”

Rita straightened her blouse with a composed elegance, brushing off the heat of the moment like a seasoned flame-dancer. Faro stepped back, pulse still racing as he watched her glide toward the front door with practiced calm.

She opened it.

Standing there, smug as a fox and twice as cunning—was Flint Faros.

“Well, well,” Flint said, adjusting his leather gloves. “Aunty. Cousin.”

His sharp eyes flicked past Rita’s shoulder and locked onto Faro, who hadn’t moved from the center of the room.

“Didn’t expect to find you two… cozying up on a weekday.”

Rita’s smile was a razor’s edge. “Did you need something, Flint?”

Flint stepped inside without being invited, his boots thudding against the polished marble. “Just thought I’d drop by. I’ve had quite the eventful few days. Saw a few familiar faces… at a certain Southbank motel. You know, the one with those charming mirrored ceilings?”

Faro’s jaw tightened.

Rita arched a brow. “Sounds like you’ve been indulging your usual filth.”

“Don’t we all, Auntie?” Flint’s eyes sparkled. “The thing is, I saw Ronda there. With a certain someone. A someone who isn’t her fiancé.”

He let the words hang like bait in the air.

“But hey—” he said, turning toward Faro, “—your secret’s safe with me. For now. I just wanted to see how far this… family affair really goes.”

Rita crossed her arms, her voice now like thunderclouds. “Get out, Flint.”

Flint gave a mock bow. “As you wish. Just remember—weddings can be messy. Especially when the guest list is full of liars.”

Flint is talking about Ronda and Cal Faros’ upcoming wedding, which Ronda recently announced to Faro—after secretly spending nights with him and reigniting their old flame.

Flint saw Faro and Ronda together at the Southbank motel and is now using that information as silent leverage, knowing that Ronda is betraying Cal behind his back.

He hasn’t told Cal—yet—but his ominous comment about weddings being messy and “full of liars” is a clear hint that he’s toying with the idea of stirring chaos, especially if it benefits his own twisted motives.

He turned, whistling a tune as he walked out and closed the door behind him.

Rita didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she turned to Faro.

“That man is a snake. But he’s not wrong.”

She stepped close again, placing a hand on Faro’s chest.

“We’re running out of time. Do you still want to marry me, Faro?”