Cleo would be lying if she said she didn’t care about the sunset. In her younger years, shuffled between farmstead and metropolis, her eyes would always search for something that didn’t exist in the city: a horizon. Clutters of buildings glittered, obscuring the horizon the same way light pollution hid the stars. New York City has a pulse unmatched by any other, sure. But Cleo cannot help but be momentarily mesmerized by the saccharine sunset. “Figured I’d find you here,” she says, coming up beside Izzy. “There’s an open bar, endless champagne, and half of Manhattan inside, and you’re out here alone looking like a mirage. Do you always have to do the whole gorgeous loner thing? Could you not, for one night, engage in fucked-up party girl behavior?” All teasing, of course, though there is no lilt in her voice to indicate. Years of friendship mean Isadora knows her, knows how she quips. “Cigarette?” Her mouth curves. “And don’t give me that look. I’m offering you a Sobranie, not heroin.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it, soft enough to disappear beneath the sound of the waves, "I don't think I've ever once been accused of looking like a mirage."
Izzy finally turned toward Cleo, amusement settling easily into her expression. There was something comforting about being known well enough that she didn't have to pretend she belonged in the middle of the party when everyone who loved her knew she'd inevitably migrate somewhere quieter.
"You say 'alone' like it's a bad thing." She lifted her champagne slightly. "I've got a decent view, a perfectly good drink, and approximately zero hedge fund managers asking what I do before telling me how healthcare should work." Her smile widened just a fraction, "So I'd actually argue I'm winning."
When Cleo held out the cigarette, one brow lifted instinctively before Izzy gave her a look that practically said, really? "You know there's a trauma surgeon in my head currently preparing a lecture," a beat, "She's losing, though."
With a sigh that carried all the resignation of someone who already knew how this conversation ended, she reached over and plucked the Sobranie from Cleo's fingers, rolling it absentmindedly between two fingers instead of lighting it. "You're insufferable," the words landed with effortless affection, "My problem is every time I say yes to one of your ideas, it starts with 'just one drink' and somehow ends with me questioning several life choices."
Her gaze wandered back to the horizon, watching the last ribbons of sunlight disappear beneath the water, "I'm pretty sure if I let you take over the itinerary for one weekend, Gianna would start asking for hourly location updates."
She looked back at Cleo, the corner of her mouth tugging upward, "and despite all of that..." She lifted the cigarette slightly, "Here I am, making another questionable decision." A small shrug followed, "I've got rounds Monday, so try not to get me banned from the villa before then."
isaac had long perfected long con between his day job and what he did for others. however , when events like these arose he couldn't help but feel a bit tense in more ways than one. he never quite fit in with the opulence but the safe in his home said otherwise. long gone were the days where he was unsure about his upbringing but he still got the aching sensation of feeling like a fraud. it was totally and completely made up but it remained throughout the years. he finished his conversation with some important business woman before making his way away from the crowds.
the small hum of the crowds were behind him as he stuffed his hands into his pockets looking out at the ocean. unfortunately , it did very little for him -- the vastness of the ocean freaked him out so he was back to square one. head turned at the sound of a voice before looking back onto the ocean , " well that's because we have to see them between all the skyscrapers. " maybe that might be a bit rude so he added , " yeah , it was getting a bit stuffy in there. "
"Fair point," she conceded, lifting her champagne glass a fraction in surrender. "I guess Manhattan sunsets have to work a little harder for your attention."
Her gaze drifted back toward the horizon, where the last ribbons of gold were beginning to melt into deeper shades of blue. Growing up with the ocean meant she'd never quite stopped taking moments like this for granted, though every so often one still managed to catch her off guard.
"I think every event reaches a point where everyone remembers they actually need oxygen," she said with an amused smile. "Too many people trying to have the most important conversation in the room." She glanced over at him then, noticing his attention kept returning to the water rather than settling on it. Not fear exactly, she wouldn't presume that, but enough hesitation to make her wonder.
"I've always preferred this part anyway." She rested her forearms lightly against the railing. "No networking. No pretending you know who everyone's father is." A beat passed before the corner of her mouth tugged upward again. "Just two people successfully avoiding another conversation about investment portfolios."
Parked at the expansive bar for the better part of fifteen minutes, he'd been ordering drinks for anyone close enough to engage in his antics. A little inebriated sure, but not belligerently so and Dominic had no intention of crossing the line into that realm during a crucial event for his sister. He knew how to pace a buzz long enough to make it last; to make it count. "If you see Celestina walking this way, can you warn me?" His jaw angles towards the nearest partygoer to his left. "I need to like, jump into the ocean or something before she figures out I showed up to this." Only a half-joke.
Her gaze drifted toward the crowd at the mention of Celestina before settling back on him, expression composed save for the hint of amusement in her eyes.
"That's a very specific contingency plan," the comment was delivered so matter of factly it almost passed for serious. She took another sip of champagne, letting the silence sit comfortably between them before speaking again.
"I won't point you out," she said. "But I also won't be responsible if she finds you." A beat. "So... should I be concerned for your safety, or hers?"
leyla didn't answer right away. her gaze lingered on the horizon a moment longer, watching the sun surrender itself to the water until only streaks of amber and rose remained. “they're not overrated.” the words came softly. “just easy to forget.” she finally turned, resting one forearm against the terrace railing. “in the city, there's always something brighter asking for your attention.” a glance toward the villa. champagne, laughter, white linen. people pretending they hadn't spent hours deciding how effortless they wanted to look. “the ocean doesn't care if anyone notices it.” something about that almost made her smile. “it shows up anyway.” silence settled comfortably between them before she spoke again. “i think that's why i came out here.” not because she needed air, or because the party had become overwhelming. simply because, for a few minutes, nothing was asking anything of her. her fingers traced absent circles around the stem of her champagne flute. “i spend enough nights surrounded by people trying to be looked at.” she didn't elaborate, didn't need to. brown eyes found the woman beside her again, curiosity replacing contemplation. “what about you?” a slight tilt of her head. “were you escaping...” her gaze drifted briefly toward the villa before returning. "...or looking for something the party couldn't give you?"
Izzy's smile lingered, though it softened around the edges as she listened. There was something quietly reassuring about the way Leyla spoke, as if she'd made peace with observations most people rushed past. "The ocean's got a better sense of self than most people I know," she mused, her gaze returning to the last sliver of sunlight melting beneath the horizon. "It doesn't compete with the skyline. Doesn't have to."
A quiet laugh escaped her, more to herself than anything. "I think I spend so much of my life around things demanding my attention that I forget what it feels like to exist somewhere that doesn't need anything from me." She rolled the stem of her glass lightly between her fingers. "Hospitals aren't exactly known for their peaceful ambiance."
There was no bitterness in the admission, only the familiar acceptance of someone who had chosen the work long ago and would choose it again tomorrow.
At Leyla's question, Izzy considered the villa over her shoulder for a moment. Music drifted across the terrace, punctuated by another burst of laughter before it disappeared into the wind. "I don't know that I was looking for anything," she admitted honestly. "Maybe just trying to enjoy the rare feeling that no one's about to page me." The corner of her mouth tugged upward. "Turns out that's a novelty."
She looked back toward Leyla, her expression warm but thoughtful. "But..." she paused for a beat, "...I think you might've been onto something."
Her eyes drifted once more to the darkening water, "It's nice standing somewhere that doesn't expect you to perform. You don't have to be interesting out here." A small smile returned. "You just get to watch the sun disappear and let that be enough."
Her head tilted slightly, curiosity surfacing now that the quiet between them had become comfortable rather than obligatory. "You mentioned spending your nights around people who want to be noticed." She glanced over with an easy expression that left plenty of room for the other woman not to answer. "That sounds less like a job and more like an endurance sport."
"Did the champagne make you that poetic? I knew it tasted weird." The amusement that surfaced within her features found it's way into a laugh. One that slipped past her lips as she neared the brunette and peered over the edge of the terrace. "Well, I was looking for you 'cause Yves and I are trying to find ice cream, but it's not working. The desserts all like tiramisu and crème brûlée and no chocolate ice cream." Eyes rolled north dramatically as she leaned her back against the glass paneled railing - a hazard to anyone glancing in their direction. "Did you try any?" The dessert, that was. Rather than find her own drink, Gianna reached forth for Izzy's champagne flute and lifted it to her own lips nonchalantly. An action that wouldn't be the first nor last time displayed.
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it, the quiet sort that only seemed to happen around people who'd earned it. "Definitely the champagne," she agreed with a small nod. "Couldn't possibly be the objectively gorgeous sunset in front of us."
Her eyes followed Gianna's theatrical disappointment toward the dessert tables before a sympathetic wince crossed her face. "See, that's criminal. You invite people to a villa that probably costs more than my student loans and then don't serve chocolate ice cream?" She clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. "I'd file a complaint."
She wasn't remotely surprised when Gianna reached over and stole her champagne. At this point, she would've been more surprised if she hadn't.
"I had the crème brûlée," she admitted. "It was good. Very French. Very expensive tasting. But if you're asking whether I'd trade it for a bowl of chocolate ice cream?" Her shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. "Not even for a second."
A beat passed before a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Come on." She nudged Gianna lightly with her shoulder. "We'll go find some. I refuse to believe we're surrounded by this much money and nobody can produce chocolate ice cream. Worst case?" Her brows lifted. "We'll make the chef cry."
The assumption that she'd discover a moment of solitary reprieve was one that quickly evaporated once her green eyes landed upon the woman that had preempted her presence at the terrace. As if on cue, the performance of hostess returned to her demeanour - a mask illuminating her features as she mirrored the lazy smile presented from the brunette onto her own lips. "Has the demand for golden hour at One Vanderbilt depleted that quickly? I believe it was always just tourists that cared, to be honest." Her awareness on the statistics was largely due to her own majority share in the massive ROI granted from the development of the observatory tower. "I'm Celestina, by the way." Though her reputation preceded an introduction, it was provided nonetheless and accompanied a hand extending forth in greeting.
Izzy accepted the offered hand with an easy confidence, her smile settling into something softer. "Izzy Carvalho." Her handshake was firm, brief, practiced, years of introductions made somewhere between operating rooms, board meetings, and charity galas.
A quiet laugh escaped her. "I suppose sunsets don't make for the best investment portfolio." Her eyes drifted back toward the horizon for a beat before returning to Celestina. "Though I imagine this is a much better view than the one from One Vanderbilt." The corner of her mouth lifted just enough to betray the dry humor.
"Your guests seem to agree." She gestured lightly toward the celebration behind them before adding, "I don't blame them. It's beautiful."
Another breeze rolled in off the Atlantic, carrying with it the distant hum of conversation. "I was starting to think I might be the only one stealing a quiet minute." Her gaze settled on Celestina again, curious rather than prying. "Or is this where the hostess comes when she needs to remember she actually lives beside an ocean?"
open starter | event: white party | no cap go crazy
The city always seemed to exist at a different speed than the coast.
Perhaps that was why Izzy found herself drifting farther from the heart of the celebration, away from the laughter spilling across the terrace and the clinking of champagne glasses, until the music had softened beneath the steady rhythm of waves rolling onto the shore. The evening had settled into that fleeting hour where everything seemed dipped in gold, Villa Aurelia glowing behind her like something plucked from the French Riviera.
Her dress caught the last of the sunlight as she leaned lightly against the terrace railing, one hand resting around the stem of her champagne flute while the ocean breeze coaxed a few loose strands free from the neat twist at the nape of her neck. It was beautiful in the effortless, almost intimidating way only places built for the unimaginably wealthy could manage. Every detail had been considered. Every arrangement of jasmine and white roses placed with intention. Every guest dressed as though they'd stepped from the pages of a magazine.
For the first time in weeks, she wasn't thinking about early morning rounds, consults, or the inevitable call that would pull her back to the hospital. Tonight, there was only the ocean, the salt air, and the luxury of having nowhere else to be.
Her gaze lingered on the Atlantic for another moment before she glanced toward the person who'd wandered close enough to share the view, an easy smile finding its way onto her face.
"I was beginning to think Manhattan had convinced everyone sunsets were overrated," she admitted, motioning toward the horizon with her glass. "Glad to see at least one other person escaped the party for a minute."
Face Claim: Bruna Marquezine
Age: 29
Birthday: October 27
Occupation: Trauma Surgery Resident
Hometown: Manhattan, New York City
Current Residence: Upper East Side, Manhattan
OVERVIEW
Born and raised on Manhattan's Upper East Side, Isadora Carvalho has spent her entire life surrounded by New York's most influential circles. The daughter of a decorated NYPD detective and a former Assistant District Attorney turned judge, she was raised believing justice, discipline, and integrity weren't virtues, they were expectations.
While her parents spent decades pursuing justice after tragedy struck, Isadora became fascinated with preventing tragedy altogether. Medicine gave her something the legal system never could: the chance to save someone before they became another case file.
After graduating medical school, she matched into one of New York City's busiest trauma surgery residency programs. Years later, she's become one of the hospital's most respected residents. She is known for impossible composure, relentless work ethic, and an uncanny ability to keep people alive when everyone else has already begun preparing for the worst.
To the outside world, Dr. Carvalho is exactly what people expect. She's polished, brilliant, and endlessly dedicated.
What almost no one knows is that New York's underground has quietly come to know her by another reputation entirely.
THE OFF THE BOOKS SURGEON
A few years ago, after finishing an overnight shift during one of her first nights as a resident, Isadora was approached and asked if she'd help someone who couldn't risk stepping foot inside a hospital.
Against every instinct telling her to walk away... She said yes.
She treated the injury. Collected her fee. Went home. She assumed it would be the last time. It wasn't. Word spread quietly through the city. Now, every so often, usually in the middle of the night or on one of her rare days off, Isadora receives a simple text.
Need you.
Within minutes, a car or SUV arrives outside her building. No names. No destinations. No questions. She climbs in carrying the same worn leather medical bag she's owned since residency and treats whoever is waiting.
To New York's criminal underworld, she's become something of an urban legend. The surgeon who never asks questions. The surgeon who never speaks about what she's seen. The surgeon who always comes. She doesn't do it because she believes in organized crime. She doesn't do it for the money. She does it because when someone is bleeding in front of her, every instinct she possesses tells her to save them.
FAMILY
Miguel Carvalho - Father. Retired NYPD Detective. He spent nearly thirty years investigating violent crime throughout New York City. He still calls Isadora every Sunday, convinced she isn't eating enough. He has no idea his daughter has become intertwined with the very world he spent his career trying to dismantle.
Judge Elena Carvalho - Mother. Former Assistant District Attorney and New York State Judge. She sees straight through Isadora's carefully maintained composure and worries her daughter has sacrificed too much of herself in pursuit of becoming exceptional.
PERSONALITY
Isadora is composed, observant, fiercely intelligent, and quietly ambitious.
She doesn't command attention by being loud, she commands it through competence.
People trust her because she never panics and she notices everything.
Despite her reputation, she isn't cold. She's deeply compassionate. She simply communicates love through action instead of words.
She'll remember your coffee order, notice you've skipped lunch, and stay three hours after her shift ends because your family needs answers.
INSPIRATION
Cristina Yang - brilliance, ambition, dry humor, surgical obsession.
Olivia Pope - composure, elegance, authority, presence.
Donna Paulsen - emotional intelligence, observational skills, quiet loyalty.
• Workaholic
• Emotionally guarded
• Struggles to ask for help
• Avoids vulnerability
• Overly independent
• Carries guilt privately
• Believes every problem has a solution if she works hard enough
• Often forgets to care for herself while caring for everyone else
QUIRKS
• Carries a ton of pens in her scrubs because someone always steals one or she loses them.
• Keeps protein bars in every purse, coat, and drawer because she constantly forgets to eat.
• Pushes her sleeves up before surgery, difficult conversations, or making important decisions.
• Has beautiful handwriting despite writing medical notes all day.
• Speaks conversational Portuguese with family.
• Buys herself fresh flowers every Sunday.
• Has a worn leather medical bag dedicated solely to off-the-books calls.
• Knows every overnight nurse by name.
• Notices injuries before introductions.
• Secretly prefers tea over coffee but survives almost exclusively on hospital coffee.
• Rarely cries where anyone can see.
• Falls asleep almost instantly after long shifts.
• Hasn't taken a proper vacation in years.
MANNERISMS
• Rolls her sleeves to her forearms whenever she's mentally preparing herself.
• Tilts her chin slightly instead of raising her voice when someone says something particularly stupid.
• Crosses her arms while listening rather than while speaking.
• Makes direct eye contact when delivering difficult news.
• Speaks calmly no matter how chaotic the situation becomes.
• Has a habit of saying "Again." when she wants someone to repeat themselves after they've made a poor decision.
STYLE (outside of work)
Effortlessly expensive. Silk blouses. Tailored trousers. Cashmere sweaters. Long wool coats. Pointed heels. Simple gold jewelry. Classic watches. Minimal makeup. She never chases trends. She invests in timeless pieces.
WANTED CONNECTIONS
THE FIRST ONE: The very first off-the-books patient she ever treated. Without realizing it, they changed the course of her life. Whether they feel guilty, protective, indebted, or something more is entirely up to plotting.
THE REPEAT CUSTOMER: Different injuries. Different nights. Same disappointed look from Isadora. Somehow they always end up back on her table. TAKEN BY ASLAN/JAKE.
THE RULE BREAKER: The only patient she ever got to know personally. She learned their name. They learned hers. Against every rule she ever established, they became part of each other's lives. TAKEN BY YVES.
THE DETECTIVE: A detective who either knew her father or greatly respected him. They've crossed paths more than once. They suspect she knows far more than she's willing to admit. They're right.
THE FAMILY FRIEND: Raised in the same circles. Holiday parties. Private schools. Years of shared history. One of the few people who remembers Isadora before medicine became her entire identity. TAKEN BY LOTTIE.
THE BAD INFLUENCE: The person constantly trying to convince her to have an actual life. Weekend trips. Rooftop bars. She usually says no. Usually. TAKEN BY CLEO.
THE EMERGENCY CONTACT: The person listed on every hospital form, alongside her parents. Has a key to her apartment. Knows where the spare scrubs are. Can tell she's lying when she says she's okay. TAKEN BY GIGI.
THE EX: The relationship that couldn't survive residency. There was never a dramatic betrayal. Just impossible schedules, missed holidays, canceled plans, and two people who loved each other enough to let the other go.
THE OFF LIMITS: Someone she absolutely should not want. A detective. A gang leader. A patient. Someone connected to her family. Whoever they are, pursuing anything would complicate every carefully balanced part of her life. Naturally... They're impossible to ignore. TAKEN BY JAKE
THE CONSTANT: The first person she wants to call after every impossible day. No labels. No expectations. Just the one person she instinctively reaches for. TAKEN BY VAL.
THESE ARE JUST SOME IDEAS BUT PLS LET ME LOVE YOU FOR ALL THE THINGS!!!!!
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