In the electrifying orbit of professional darts, where a pinpoint throw can silence a roaring crowd and launch a teenager into superstardom, Luke Littler has become a beacon of youthful defiance. At just 18, the Warrington whiz kid—nicknamed “The Nuke” for his explosive precision—has conquered the PDC circuit, amassing a jaw-dropping £1.5 million in prize money and a legion of fans who hang on his every dart. But beyond the oche, where glory meets the grind, Littler’s personal life has become an unintended battleground. Recently, the darts prodigy unleashed a fiery takedown of online creeps who dared to impersonate his girlfriend, 19-year-old beautician Faith Millar, on social media. What started as a shadowy ploy for attention has escalated into a stark reminder of fame’s darker underbelly, prompting Littler to rally his followers in a digital crusade against the trolls.
It was a crisp September evening when the storm broke. Scrolling through Instagram, Littler stumbled upon a fraudulent profile masquerading as Millar’s “backup” account. The bio was a slick deception: her full name, a nod to her real handle, and a suspicious link dangling like bait to an external website ripe for phishing or worse. These aren’t harmless pranks; they’re calculated incursions into privacy, designed to dupe fans, harvest data, or sow chaos in the lives of young celebrities. Littler’s response was swift and unfiltered. He fired off an Instagram Story to his 1.9 million followers, screenshotting the offender with a caption that cut like one of his trademark 180s: “Everyone go report this fake account of Faith Millar. Some very strange people in the world isn’t there.” The plea went viral within hours, transforming his platform into a vigilant army. Reports flooded in, and the account vanished as quickly as it appeared—but not before Littler doubled down, flagging yet another impostor in a follow-up post, underscoring the relentless nature of this harassment.
This isn’t the first time the couple has stared down the barrel of online vitriol. Littler and Millar, both hailing from the working-class grit of Greater Manchester, have been inseparable since locking eyes in February 2025, mere months after Littler’s amicable split from his previous partner, Eloise Milburn, in July 2024. What began as whispered rumors—fueled by cozy social media snaps and her presence at his early-season triumphs—blossomed into a full-fledged romance by spring. Management initially downplayed it as a close friendship, emphasizing Littler’s laser focus on darts amid a whirlwind tour schedule. “Luke doesn’t want a girlfriend at the moment, he’s focusing on his darts and is too busy travelling around the country to start up a relationship,” his team had insisted back in March. But by May, the truth was undeniable: a candid Instagram photo of the pair, beaming side-by-side, confirmed what fans had suspected. Millar, with her 26,000 followers and a day job blending artistry and precision in beauty treatments, stepped into the spotlight not as a spectator, but as Littler’s steadfast anchor.
Their bond, however, has been tested by a toxic undercurrent of jealousy. Trolls, lurking in the anonymity of keyboards, have lobbed relentless abuse at Millar—questioning her motives, mocking the four-year age gap (a non-issue echoed from Littler’s prior relationship), and even fabricating scandals to undermine their happiness. In a raw interview on DartsStream Live just last month, Littler peeled back the curtain on the emotional toll. “It was tough at the start with people trolling our relationship online,” he admitted, his voice steady but laced with frustration. “They wanna ruin us.” He paused, then added with a defiant shrug, “But those making the comments are just jealous.” It’s a sentiment born from experience; after his breakup with Milburn, Littler had publicly shielded her from similar backlash, posting a heartfelt plea on social media to “leave her alone.” Now, with Millar by his side, he’s drawn the same protective line, warning her upfront about the fame-fueled frenzy. “I had to give her a heads-up before we went public,” he revealed. “She’s handled it like a champ, though.”
Millar’s role in Littler’s rocket-fueled ascent can’t be overstated. She’s more than arm candy at the arena; she’s the quiet force steadying him through the chaos. When Littler jetted to Australia last month for the Darts Masters in Wollongong, his parents stayed home, citing the grueling 24-hour flight. Without hesitation, Millar packed her bags. “As soon as I asked the question, she was like, ‘Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance,'” Littler recounted with a grin. Her presence proved prophetic: he stormed to victory, dismantling Belgium’s Mike De Decker 8-4 in the final, his third major title of the year. Post-match, amid the confetti and cheers, Littler gushed, “She’s a lovely lady, Faith. She’s exactly what I needed down there.” From the electric buzz of Blackpool’s World Matchplay—where their onstage kiss after his Triple Crown clincher melted hearts—to the neon glow of New York’s US Darts Masters in June, Millar has been a fixture, her cheers a talisman against the pressure.
Yet, this latest impersonation saga peels back a more sinister layer. In an era where social media amplifies every triumph and tragedy, young stars like Littler grapple with predators who exploit their glow for clicks or cons. Fake profiles aren’t just nuisances; they erode trust, invite scams, and amplify the isolation of celebrity. Littler, ever the pragmatist, has turned the tide by empowering his community. “Luke and Faith are trying to protect not only themselves but also their fans from scammers,” as one observer noted in the aftermath. By broadcasting the fakes and urging mass reports, he’s not just defending his love—he’s educating a generation on digital vigilance. Millar, too, has leaned into resilience, maintaining her authentic Instagram as a space for beauty tips and glimpses of their grounded life, from Wigan walks to post-tournament takeaways.
As autumn looms over the darts calendar, with the New Zealand Darts Masters kicking off this weekend and eyes already on the lucrative World Grand Prix, Littler’s focus remains unbreakable. His mental fortitude, honed by 2024’s Guardian interview where he declared, “It’s not going to affect me or my mental strength,” shines through. Off the board, though, this chapter serves as a rallying cry. In a world quick to idolize but slower to empathize, Littler’s stand against the “very strange” creeps is a masterclass in boundary-setting. For Faith Millar, it’s validation of her place in his corner. Together, they’re not just surviving the spotlight—they’re redefining it on their terms. As Littler might say, some people are strange, but love like theirs? That’s the real bullseye.
Leave a Reply