It’s a story as old as the internet itself, but with a modern, heartbreakingly personal twist: people searching for love, excitement, or just a good deal online, only to find themselves ensnared by sophisticated scammers. In the UK, the past few years have seen a surge in high-profile frauds, leaving victims not only out of pocket, but also emotionally scarred and, in many cases, deeply mistrustful of others. Three recent cases—each with its own unique flavor of deception—have laid bare the scale, the cunning, and the devastating consequences of romance and ticket scams in the digital age.
Take Caitlyn’s story. A mother of two living in London, she matched with a man named Christopher Harkins on Tinder back in 2020. At first, he seemed like the perfect catch: gentlemanly, generous, and flush with cash. “At the start I thought he was very gentlemanly. He was being flash with money,” Caitlyn told BBC Disclosure. Harkins, using the fake name Christopher Telfer, offered to double Caitlyn’s savings through his supposed foreign currency exchange business. Vulnerable after a breakup and eager to believe in a fresh start, Caitlyn sent him £3,132—all she had.
But when she asked for her money back, the fairy tale quickly soured. Harkins claimed his bank account had been frozen and pressured her to send more, even suggesting she take out loans and overdrafts. “He kept saying I could take out bank loans and overdrafts,” Caitlyn recalled. When she finally refused, Harkins turned aggressive and blocked her number. She never saw her money again.
Sadly, Caitlyn was far from Harkins’ only victim. According to the BBC, he targeted at least 30 women over nearly a decade, using dating apps like Tinder to lure them in with promises of romance, business opportunities, or luxury travel. His crimes in Scotland included not just fraud but also rape, assault, and secretly recording intimate videos. The total amount he defrauded? Over £214,000. After being exposed in Scotland, Harkins fled to London, where he continued his scams under a false identity. In January 2023, he was jailed at Isleworth Crown Court for defrauding another woman of £16,700, yet investigations by the BBC have uncovered further alleged frauds amounting to almost £70,000.
For Caitlyn, the emotional toll was as severe as the financial loss. “Afterwards I just felt so stupid,” she admitted. “I couldn’t even tell anyone for a while. I was so embarrassed. It was a nightmare. Only one friend knew. It was a very horrible time in my life.” It wasn’t until she read about Harkins’ other crimes in a BBC article in January 2025 that she finally felt able to share her story more widely and, on November 23, 2025, decided to report him to the police. “I shared it with my friend group and finally told them all what had happened. I’ve decided to report him to the police.”
Caitlyn’s experience is echoed in the story of Lisa, a 44-year-old from Staffordshire. Lisa, who is autistic, was drawn into a two-year online relationship with someone she believed to be Dr. Chris Brown, a well-known TV vet from the show Bondi Vet. The scam began innocuously enough on Instagram, with a profile sporting the coveted blue verification tick. Over time, the conversation turned romantic, and while Lisa was on holiday in Spain, the scammer proposed marriage. Soon after, he claimed to be gravely ill in Africa, caring for animals, and in urgent need of thousands of dollars for medical bills.
Lisa, feeling emotionally invested and guilty, sent a total of £9,000—money she’d set aside for food, rent, and her favorite hobbies like swimming and shopping. “He kept asking me for money, said ‘I love you’ and we’d do small talk,” Lisa recounted to BBC Radio WM. The emotional manipulation was relentless: “He told me he could not live without me. Mentally it’s scarred me because it makes me feel an idiot. I have no interest in relationships at all now, I can’t trust anybody. Sometimes I have nightmares over it. It’s like being groomed in a way.”
Lisa’s parents were aware she was talking to someone online, but she kept the full extent of the situation to herself. Gradually, inconsistencies in the scammer’s story began to emerge: he never gave her a personal phone number and repeatedly asked for money for things like plane tickets. “If you haven’t got a personal number to contact on and you can’t come from the bottom of your heart to come over to see someone because you want to be with them, then that’s a poor show,” she reflected. By the time Lisa realized the truth, the damage—financial and emotional—had already been done.
While romance scams like those targeting Caitlyn and Lisa are deeply personal, other frauds have targeted the hopes and dreams of entire communities. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the case of Miles Hart, the so-called Glastonbury scammer. Hart, who attended Millfield School near the famous festival site in Somerset, leveraged his reputation for connections and privilege to sell around £1 million worth of fake Glastonbury Festival tickets, hospitality passes, and VIP access for the 2024 edition.
Hart’s scheme was audacious. He claimed his family’s land ownership near the festival gave him special access to tickets—a claim his friends, many of whom had enjoyed lavish trips with him, had no reason to doubt. “I thought it was like an exclusive opportunity, and I really didn’t want to miss out,” Seb, one of Hart’s former classmates, told the BBC. But when the festival rolled around, the tickets never materialized, and Hart vanished, leaving hundreds of fans out of pocket and furious.
The fallout was enormous. Up to 50 fraud investigations related to Glastonbury 2024 tickets are ongoing as of November 2025, according to the Metropolitan Police. Hart was last seen near Glastonbury just days before the 2025 festival but remains at large. A covert recording obtained by the BBC from summer 2024 captured Hart admitting he had “debt that needs to be paid” and that he was “involved in something that went wrong.” Despite this, none of the victims have been refunded, and Hart’s attorneys maintain that there are “material errors” in the allegations and that some accusers “cannot be relied upon to represent an accurate portrayal of events.”
From romance to festival dreams, these stories reveal the devastating impact of online scams—financially, emotionally, and socially. Victims often feel isolated, ashamed, and reluctant to seek help. Yet, as more stories come to light and investigations continue, there’s hope that awareness will help others avoid similar fates. For those affected, support is available via the BBC Action Line and other resources. The fight against online fraud is far from over, but every story shared is a step toward greater vigilance and, hopefully, justice.
