The Discarded Heiress Owns The Wasteland
8.2 / 10.0
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Casey woke up with a throbbing skull in a glamorous dressing room, facing a public execution by an internet mob.
Her wealthy family had thrown her away. Her hypocritical sister, Coralie, forced a holographic tablet into her hands, demanding she join a deadly survival reality show on a wasteland planet.
"It's what Mommy wants. If you don't sign, you're dead to the Hendersons."
The whole world wanted her dead. On the live broadcast, billions of viewers cursed her as a toxic stalker. The golden boy idol Kayson physically attacked her to defend Coralie's honor. Even the show's staff mocked her, deliberately leaving her with nothing but a torn, broken tent and a single bottle of water for the lethal alien wilderness.
The universe was playing a cruel joke on her. She was framed as the villain of her sister's perfect story, banished to a wasteland where everyone expected her to cry, beg, and die on live television.
But they didn't know she had already survived a decade in the ruins. Casey didn't shed a single tear. Instead, she invoked a hidden contract clause, demanding a full year on the planet instead of the standard month.
"I'll survive for a year, and the planet becomes mine."
She grabbed her broken tent, stepped onto the red alien dirt, and prepared to show the universe what a real predator looked like.
The Discarded Heiress Owns The Wasteland Chapter 1
The cold floor bit into Casey's cheek. A sharp, throbbing pain exploded at the base of her skull, pulling her from the void. Her eyes snapped open.
Blurry lights. The smell of synthetic cleaner and expensive perfume. Not the wasteland. Not the smell of ash and rot.
Her body moved before her mind caught up. She rolled, muscles coiling, pushing herself up into a crouch. Her hands curled into fists, knuckles white, ready to strike. Her eyes, sharp and cold as steel, swept the room.
A dressing room. Mirrors, bright lights, racks of clothes. A place for the privileged. A place she did not belong.
A wave of dizziness hit her. She grabbed the edge of the makeup counter, her nails scraping against the hard surface. Memories she had buried deep within her flooded her brain. Not just of the wasteland she had conquered—the decade spent as a ruthless warlord scavenging radioactive ruins, fighting feral mutants, leading a gang of hardened survivors. And then, the tear in reality. The blinding light. The death that was supposed to be final.
But death had not wanted her. Instead, she had woken up here. In a new body. A younger, softer body. A body that could do something her old one never could: shift. She could feel the beast coiled inside her ribs—a massive, fanged creature of fur and claw. In this strange future, she had become a shifter. A rare female. And in this society, females were treasures, allowed—even encouraged—to take multiple male mates.
The sharp click-clack of high heels echoed from the hallway. Fast. Deliberate. Getting closer.
The door flew open. Harsh light from the corridor spilled in, making Casey squint.
Coralie Henderson stood there. A white dress hugged her perfect body. Her face was a mask of concern, but her eyes flickered with a quick flash of disgust before she schooled her features.
"Sister!" Coralie rushed forward, hands outstretched, reaching for Casey's arm.
Casey moved. A simple shift of her body, a step to the side. Coralie's hands grabbed nothing but air. She stumbled slightly, her perfect smile freezing on her face.
"Don't touch me," Casey said. Her voice was flat. Empty.
Coralie blinked. Her eyes watered instantly. The tears looked practiced. "Casey, I'm so worried about you. You fell... you need to sign the contract. It's the only way to fix your reputation. Please, for the family."
Casey crossed her arms over her chest. She stared at Coralie. The girl was a terrible liar. Her pulse was steady. Her breathing was even. This was a performance.
Coralie shifted under the cold gaze. She swallowed hard and gestured to an assistant waiting by the door, who quickly brought a holographic tablet to her. Coralie snatched it and held it out like a shield.
"It's what Mommy wants," Coralie said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "She said if you don't sign, you're dead to the Hendersons."
Mommy. The word hit the air like a slap. Casey's eyes narrowed. A chill settled in her gaze. She reached out and snatched the tablet from Coralie's hands.
She didn't look at the main text. That was garbage. The main text was just the show's rules: survive on Planet A13 for one year, attract male mates, entertain the audience. The usual degrading spectacle designed to break people like her. She scrolled down, fast. Her eyes, trained by a decade of scanning for danger in the ruins, caught every word. Termination clauses. Liability waivers. And then, at the very bottom, in a font so small it was almost invisible.
Clause 7.4: Any participant surviving a full standard year on Planet A13 shall be granted absolute ownership of the planetary body and all resources contained therein.
Casey's breath hitched. A planet. Valued at 460 billion credits. A fortress. A home. A deal too good to be true. They thought they were sending a weak, disgraced girl to die on a monster-infested world, torn apart by beasts or rejected by her potential mates. But they didn't know about the wasteland. They didn't know about the
ten years of blood and fire. She was going to live. She was going to win. And she was going to own this planet.
Coralie leaned in, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I know it's scary, Casey. The wild planet is dangerous. But you have to try, right? For the men?"
Casey looked up. The cold calculation in her eyes made Coralie take a step back.
Casey grabbed the stylus from the counter. She pressed the tip to the screen. Coralie held her breath, her eyes bright with anticipation.
Casey signed her name. The strokes were sharp, aggressive, slashing across the digital paper like a blade.
A green light flashed. Contract binding.
Casey tossed the stylus onto the counter. It clattered loudly in the quiet room. She stood up straight. She was taller than Coralie. The height advantage, combined with the sheer force of her presence, turned the dynamic upside down.
Coralie stumbled back another step, her face pale.
Casey smirked. A look of pure contempt. She walked past Coralie, her shoulder brushing the other girl's, forcing her to move aside.
Casey grabbed the door handle and shoved it open.
The hallway exploded with light. Cameras flashed like strobes, blinding her. Microphones were shoved in her face. The noise was a physical assault.
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The Discarded Heiress Owns The Wasteland of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
8.2
Ten years as childhood friends and three as husband and wife ended in her husband's betrayal, and her brothers' indifference. Diagnosed with mid-stage stomach cancer, Roselyn saw the truth of her life.
She walked away from everything, rising from an overlooked office worker to a leading figure in the tech world.
She outplayed her husband into signing divorce papers. When they met again, he begged, "I was wrong... take me back. I'd give you my stomach if I could."
Her once arrogant brothers pleaded too, but she felt nothing. After all, love that arrived too late meant nothing to her now-she simply didn't care anymore.
As they stood desperate, a man stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. "Why waste time on them? Look at me instead."
8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
9.1
He postponed putting my name on the deed 18 times.
Each time, his mentee Ciera had an “emergency.” Each time, he ran to her.
I watched him give her his prized Montblanc pen—the one he wouldn’t even let me borrow. I saw her post their late nights on Instagram. I ate anniversary dinners alone while he “mentored” her.
Then he bought me a necklace—identical to the one she just flaunted online.
That was when I stopped feeling anything.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I simply packed two suitcases, resigned from our firm, and booked a one-way ticket to London.
He thinks I’m coming back in a week.
He has no idea I’m gone for good.
Nineteen broken promises. One silent goodbye. And a new life waiting across the ocean.
8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.
7.4
I was only fifteen when my venomous family orchestrated my doom by forcing me into an arranged marriage with mafia heir Javier Velasquez.
On our wedding night, Javier paraded strippers into our suite to show his absolute contempt, turning me into the ultimate joke of the underworld overnight.
But being a joke was a luxury compared to what came next.
Three years later, Javier needed to be a widower to marry into a heavily armed family and secure their backing for a coup.
He didn't grant me the mercy of a bullet.
Instead, he dragged me to an abandoned underground safehouse, locked me in the damp, rotting dark, and told the world I had been assassinated.
For six months, I starved in that dungeon, surviving only on the desperate hope that my family was safe.
Then, on the day of his lavish new wedding, a cruel maid kicked a plate of spoiled food onto my floor and delivered the final, fatal blow.
"Annabel is dead. Pined away and died of a broken heart two weeks ago."
My gentle mother was dead, all because she actually believed his lie about my tragic murder.
Driven by pure agony and an all-consuming hatred, I shattered crates of smuggled chemical solvents and struck a match, letting the roaring inferno turn their bloody wedding into my funeral pyre.
I thought the fire was the end.
But when I opened my eyes, the suffocating smoke vanished, replaced by the biting chill of a Long Island winter.
I was standing in the snow, back on the exact day my descent into hell began.
This time, the terrified girl was dead, and I would use their own ruthless rules to tear their empire apart.
8.8
My little boy died on the operating table during a minor, routine surgery.
That exact same night, my billionaire husband bought out the Hudson River for a massive, million-dollar fireworks show.
It wasn't to mourn our child. It was to celebrate his first love's son being discharged from the hospital.
When I confronted him with our son's death certificate, he sneered and accused me of hiding the boy to get his attention.
He held his mistress in our home, watched her fake a panic attack, and threatened to bankrupt my family if I didn't get on my knees and apologize to her.
But the most horrifying truth came from a terrified hospital nurse.
My son's anesthesia was deliberately kept low during the procedure to keep his tissue viable to save the mistress's child.
He was awake and in agonizing pain while his own father planned a grand celebration for another man's son.
I couldn't understand how a father could be so completely heartless.
How could he sacrifice his own flesh and blood just to please a woman who constantly manipulated him?
Looking at the ashes on my son's favorite toy, my paralyzing grief evaporated, replaced by a cold, unyielding rage.
I arranged my little boy's funeral alone in the freezing rain, left my wedding ring on the counter, and walked straight into the private hotel suite of my husband's most ruthless business rival.
"Let's take him down," I said.
