𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝟐𝟏 | 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Antoinette

Honestly, the first thing I did when I got home and cleaned up after practice was search for myself on Safari. It felt weird, looking up my own name online, but I couldn't resist. I typed it in, expecting nothing to show up, but when the results appeared, I was shocked. There were articles, paparazzi photos, mentions—all of it.

According to Google, I was the daughter of Kingston Santil, the recorded richest man from the island of Hispaniola. On top of that, I was apparently one of the most popular figures in theater right now, which I already knew, but it still felt good to see people online praising my ballet skills. The recognition was overwhelming, yet somehow validating. I'd worked so hard to get to this point, but seeing others acknowledge it felt like a different kind of achievement. Then I stumbled upon some nasty comments, insisting that I'd only made it so far in the New York ballet world because of my looks and who my family was.

But what really sent me into a spiral were the endless paparazzi pictures of me that flooded Pinterest. People were praising my aesthetic, commenting on my style, my looks, and how "perfect" everything about me seemed. They raved about my lifestyle, calling it glamorous and flawless, as if every part of my life was curated for the perfect image. It was overwhelming—everyone seemed to have an opinion, and while some were flattering, others felt like a constant reminder that my life was being dissected and admired in ways I didn't fully understand.

Even though, in real life, everything I did seemed to revolve around my brother, online, I appeared to be my own person—someone who just so happened to have a brother. And truthfully, I liked it. The idea that people saw me as an individual, separate from the shadow of my family, gave me a sense of independence I hadn't realized I craved. It felt freeing to be admired for me, not just as a part of something bigger, and for once, I felt like I was allowed to exist without any strings attached.

I sort of felt guilty about it.

I loved my older brother without question, but there was a part of me deep down that yearned for more than what I was getting. I understood that his overprotectiveness came from a place of love, but sometimes it felt suffocating. I didn't want to just be his little sister, the one he kept wrapped in bubble wrap for her own safety. I wanted to be my own person, to explore life without constantly worrying about whether my actions would upset him. I craved the freedom to make my own decisions, to make mistakes, and to figure out who I truly was outside the constraints he placed on me. It wasn't that I didn't care about him or want to push him away—it was that I needed something for myself.

Perhaps that's why I found myself falling for Micheal so quickly, doing things with him that would've taken me ages to feel comfortable doing with anyone else. With him, I found an escape, a chance to be more than just the youngest Santil, more than the girl who had to follow every rule laid out for her. Micheal gave me the space to breathe, to be Antoinette—not just a name tied to my older brother. In his eyes, I wasn't defined by expectations or status; I was just me. And for the first time in my life, I felt see... not for who I was supposed to be, but for who I truly was.

Being with Micheal made me realize something I had been avoiding for a long time: I wasn't satisfied with my structured, predictable lifestyle. The same routine, the same expectations... wanted more. I wanted to break free from the mold and do something different, something that was truly mine. Micheal, in his unpredictability and freedom, showed me a life outside of the rules I'd always been confined to. And for the first time, I wanted to live it.

Andrew was holding me back from gaining new experiences, and the more he tried to shield me, the stronger my desire to break free became. I wanted to talk to him about how I felt, to make him understand that I wasn't satisfied with the life he had mapped out for me. But deep down, I already knew how that conversation would go. He would dismiss my feelings, brushing them off like he always did and acting as though he knew what was best for me. It was frustrating knowing that my voice didn't carry the weight it should with him.