In the electrifying world of professional darts, where pinpoint precision can turn an 18-year-old prodigy into a global sensation overnight, Luke Littler has been riding a wave of triumphs that most athletes only dream of. Dubbed “The Nuke” for his explosive talent, the Warrington-born sensation has captivated audiences with his meteoric rise, clinching titles like the Australian Darts Masters and dazzling at major tournaments across the globe. But amid the cheers and flashing cameras, a darker undercurrent of fame has emerged: the relentless harassment from online trolls. Just days ago, Littler found himself thrust into a disturbing confrontation with the seedy side of social media, as creeps began impersonating his girlfriend, Faith Millar, on platforms like Instagram.
It started innocently enough—or at least, as innocently as these things can in the hyper-connected age of influencers and instant fame. Littler, with his 1.9 million Instagram followers hanging on his every post, noticed something off. Fake profiles, eerily mimicking Millar’s own account, had popped up like digital weeds. One in particular, username _faithmillar, was brazenly posing as the 19-year-old beautician, complete with pilfered photos and fabricated stories designed to dupe fans. Alarmed and furious, Littler didn’t hesitate. He fired off urgent pleas via his Instagram Stories, rallying his massive online army to fight back. “Everyone go report this fake account of _faithmillar,” he posted, his words a mix of exasperation and defiance. Not long after, spotting yet another impostor, he doubled down: “Some very strange people in this world isn’t there.” It was a raw, unfiltered call to action, urging supporters to flag the accounts and help shut them down before they could spread misinformation or worse, scam vulnerable followers.
For Littler, this wasn’t just an annoyance; it was a personal invasion, a stark reminder that his whirlwind success comes with invisible tripwires. The darts circuit, once a niche haven for pub legends and smoky arenas, has exploded into mainstream spectacle thanks to talents like his. At just 16, he stormed the 2024 PDC World Darts Championship final, pocketing £200,000 and etching his name into history as the youngest finalist ever. Fast-forward to 2025, and he’s jet-setting from Blackpool to Brisbane, his walk-on tune—”Greenlight” by Pitbull—blasting through sold-out venues. But with the spotlight comes scrutiny, and for a young couple navigating love in the public eye, the trolls represent a chilling escalation. These impersonators aren’t harmless pranksters; they’re exploiting the trust Littler has built with fans, potentially luring them into phishing schemes or spreading vicious rumors that could erode the very support system that’s propelled him forward.
Faith Millar, with her own 26,000 Instagram followers drawn to her vibrant posts about beauty tips and everyday adventures, has been Littler’s steadfast anchor since they started dating in March. What began as a low-key romance—sparked amid the chaos of his rising stardom—blossomed into something undeniable by July. That month, during the World Matchplay Darts quarter-final in Blackpool, the pair went public in the most heartwarming way: a tender kiss shared courtside, cameras capturing the moment as Littler prepared to battle on stage. Since then, Millar has become a fixture on the tour, her presence a lucky charm in Littler’s eyes. She cheered him to victory Down Under at the Australian Darts Masters, where he lifted the trophy with her by his side, and has traveled the world with him, from European showdowns to high-stakes qualifiers. “She’s a lovely lady, Faith,” Littler gushed in a candid chat with DartsStream Live. “I think it’s sort of what I needed. I knew my mum and dad weren’t going to come. And as soon as I asked the question, she was like, ‘Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance.’ So I said, ‘You can come with me.’”
Yet, beneath the glamour of trophy lifts and red-carpet arrivals lies the grit of dealing with fame’s fallout. Littler has been candid about the emotional toll, especially the barrage of online hate that seems to shadow every victory. “Yeah, it’s been tough,” he admitted, reflecting on the early days of their relationship. “Obviously, at the start of last year, I was always looking at the comments. And she’s been having a look [at the] negativity. But I just said, ‘They’re jealous. They wanna ruin us.’ I just said, ‘Don’t look at it and just focus on what we’ve got.” It’s a philosophy born from experience; this isn’t Littler’s first brush with digital deceit. Last year, during his brief romance with Eloise Milburn—a fellow darts enthusiast he met at a tournament—the couple faced similar fake profiles and vitriol. They parted ways amicably, citing his grueling schedule as the culprit, but the scars from that era linger. “We’re still good friends,” Littler has said of Milburn, emphasizing his maturity beyond his years. Now, with Millar, he’s more resolute, viewing the trolls not as threats but as envious spectators on the sidelines.
Millar’s integration into Littler’s life has been seamless and swift. She’s met his parents, bonded with his childhood mates, and even visited his sprawling mansion—a symbol of his hard-earned success. Sources close to the couple describe her as the calming force in his high-octane world, offering quiet support amid the roar of crowds and the pressure of multimillion-pound endorsements. Their nights out, often with Littler’s tight-knit group of pals, blend youthful exuberance with genuine affection: think casual pub crawls turning into spontaneous dance-offs, or lazy evenings scrolling through travel plans for the next tournament. It’s this normalcy that the impersonators threaten to shatter, turning private joy into public spectacle.
The incident underscores a broader epidemic plaguing young celebrities: the ease with which social media amplifies malice. Platforms like Instagram and X (formerly Twitter) are breeding grounds for such antics, where anyone with a keyboard can masquerade as a loved one, sowing discord for clicks or chaos. For Littler, whose fame has ballooned from local hero to international icon in under two years, it’s a sobering lesson in boundaries. He’s since ramped up privacy settings and leaned on his management team to monitor the feeds, but his message to fans remains clear: vigilance is key. By crowdsourcing reports, he’s transformed a potential crisis into a community effort, his followers responding with an outpouring of support—thousands of flags pouring in within hours, forcing the platforms to act.
Through it all, Littler and Millar emerge stronger, their bond a testament to resilience. As he hurtles toward the PDC World Grand Prix later this year, with Millar likely in the stands, one thing’s certain: the trolls may lurk in the shadows, but they can’t dim the spark between darts’ dynamic duo. In a sport defined by steady hands and sharp focus, Littler’s handling of this off-board drama proves he’s got the composure of a champion—not just on the oche, but in the unpredictable arena of real life. Their story, fraught with highs and these unwelcome lows, reminds us that behind every viral highlight reel is a human heart, beating against the noise. And for now, that’s a narrative worth rooting for.
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