Kiara Carrera dragged the mop across the floor with exaggerated movements, her face twisted into an expression of pure agony. Each swipe of the mop was accompanied by a dramatic sigh, as if she were performing in a tragic opera about a teenager doomed to die of boredom. Frank Andrews sat nearby on a recliner, arms crossed, watching her every move like a hawk.

"Are you seriously just going to sit there and stare at me the whole time?" Kiara asked, pausing to lean on the mop handle.

"Yes," Frank said bluntly. "I don't trust you to do it right."

Kiara threw her head back in mock despair. "Oh my God, I'm not plotting to flood the house or something. Relax."

Frank's eyes narrowed. "Less talking, more mopping."

She groaned and got back to work, mumbling under her breath. "This is so stupid. The floor is already clean enough to eat off of. What do you want me to do, polish it with my tears?"

"Don't tempt me," Frank replied dryly, clearly unimpressed with her theatrics.

Kiara finished mopping and moved into the living room, where the furniture gleamed and the floor sparkled like it had been scrubbed by angels. She turned to Frank with a triumphant smirk. "Okay, this room is already spotless. Can I skip it?"

"No," Frank said flatly.

Kiara stared at him in disbelief. "Are you serious? It's clean. Like, actually clean. What's the point of cleaning something that's already clean?"

Frank folded his arms. "Because I said so."

"That's not a reason," Kiara shot back, throwing the mop down in frustration. "This whole thing is horse-shit."

"What did you just say?" a voice cut in.

Kiara spun around to see Archie standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something much more serious.

"I said this is horse-shit," Kiara repeated, unapologetic. "What? Are you going to send me to the principal's office now?"

Archie's eyes narrowed. "You know, some of us actually respect this house. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Kiara snorted. "Respect it? It's a house, not a national monument."

"Enough," Frank interrupted, his voice cutting through the tension. "Since you seem to have so much energy to complain, I've decided to extend your chores."

Kiara raised an eyebrow. "Extend? To what?"

"Thirty," Frank said, a smug smile creeping onto his face.

"Thirty?" Kiara repeated, her tone incredulous. "Thirty what?"

"Chores," Frank replied, holding up the list he had scribbled on. "And you're going to do every single one."

Kiara let out a short laugh, crossing her arms. "Yeah, that's not happening."

Frank's expression didn't waver. "It's either thirty chores, or I keep adding until you get the message."

Kiara's eyes narrowed. "Wow. Dictator vibes much?"

Frank shrugged. "Call it what you want, but you're the one who asked for it."

"Fine," Kiara said with a mock shrug. "You know what? This reminds me of that Big Time Rush song, Dale Pa' Ya with Maffio. Absolute banger."

Frank blinked, thrown off for a moment. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Kiara smirked. "Nothing. I just wanted to bring it up. Also, side note, I hope you're dead."

Frank's eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, Kiara thought she might have pushed him too far. But instead, he surprised her by saying, "Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment."

Kiara rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

"Right back at you," Frank replied, his tone almost cheerful. "Now get back to work."

Kiara sighed heavily and picked up the mop again, muttering under her breath as she started cleaning the already-clean living room. "This is my villain origin story, I swear."

From his spot in the doorway, Archie watched her for a moment before shaking his head. "You're lucky he's letting you off with just thirty chores."

Kiara shot him a glare. "Don't you have something better to do, like flexing your abs in the mirror?"

Archie laughed, a sound that was half amused and half annoyed. "Good luck with that attitude, Kie."

As Archie walked off, Kiara went back to mopping, each swipe of the mop slower and more exaggerated than the last. "Thirty chores," she muttered. "This place better be spotless enough for royalty by the time I'm done."

Frank, still watching her like a micromanager, smirked. "That's the idea."