If you’ve ever joked about falling for someone with “mysterious European wealth,” this story will make you want to run background checks on literally anyone who fits that description. What one TikToker (and Bachelor alum) is now calling “The Danish Deception” is part romance thriller, part financial true crime, and 100% a cautionary tale for anyone who thinks love at first sight can’t come with a credit-card bill.
At the center of the chaos is a former Bachelor contestant from Colton Underwood’s season, who thought she had found her literal real-life fairytale: exotic travel, a whirlwind romance, a man who claimed he was a Danish royal and an Olympian. Onyeka Ehie’s 27-part TikTok series sounds like the script of a scammer docuseries, probably because this is exactly that kind of story. And if you don’t have time to watch all 27 parts, then here’s the TL;DR.
It all started in Croatia in June 2022. “I was working two jobs, and I was working like a dog,” Ehie explained in Part 1, posted on Nov. 14. “I knew I needed a break, so I reached out to my friend who was living in Germany at the time. I said, ‘Let’s take a trip. Let’s go somewhere in Europe.’” She says that they ended up landing in Croatia because it was “a cute little town and close by the water but not as crazy busy as other places in Europe.”
It was on the second day that she and the unnamed man met at a beach club. “We’re lying in day beds kind of off to the side, minding our own business, drinking mojitos,” Ehie said. “I look up and see this very attractive man, and the first thing that came to my mind was this man looks like he’s walking straight out of a Calvin Klein ad. 6’3, blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled skin, so tan, muscles everywhere. I was definitely taken aback… And eventually he looked over at me.” Their meet-cute checked every rom-com box: instant chemistry, vacation glow, and a guy with the kind of mysterious, old-money energy that screams “don’t ask questions.”
From the beginning, he reportedly established himself as “rich rich” as he paid for everything. Not just dinners and drinks, but extravagant vacations to Monaco, St. Tropez, and Cannes. Private experiences. Luxury everything. For months. To Ehie, he was the full fantasy: worldly, wealthy, generous, and supposedly connected to Danish royalty. “I was like, who is this man, and why is this happening?” she asked. “He’s attractive, he has a great job, he has a royal title. Is there anything wrong with him? I have always believed in the term ‘it’s too good to be true,’ and I was feeling that 100%, but we truly fell in love over the phone.”
Within a few months, around the five-month mark, things reportedly escalated into engagement and marriage. Fast? Yes. Concerning? In hindsight, absolutely. “Every time I look at my phone, it’s like he’s DM’ing me, messaging me, and continuing all of this,” Ehie said. “I was a little bit shocked but very interested at the same time.” For a while, married life continued in glossy, IG-filter perfection. The money flowed, the man was charming, and nothing looked off. Until it did.
Slowly, Ehie claims he began asking her for occasional financial help for “an apartment complex in Copenhagen,” or “flights to Dallas.” She believed it was nothing major at first — just little things, explained away with something that sounds believable if you’re already in deep: “My money’s tied up.” Then the requests grew. A bit more. Then a lot more. And suddenly she was helping him cover massive expenses, such as “$318,000 in IRS taxes,” for reasons that never quite added up. Eventually, thousands of dollars were flowing from her accounts into his.
But what she didn’t know was that he wasn’t a royal or an Olympian. “He has a gambling addiction, and I completely lose it,” she said, choking up. “Sorry guys, I get emotional at this part.” And she, along with several other unsuspecting loved ones, was funding that addiction.
When she finally learned the truth, Ehie admitted that she didn’t run. In fact, she did what way too many people in complicated relationships do: she tried to fix it. She told him, “We’re going to work on this together.” But behind her back, he was already pulling money from other sources — her friends, her family, anyone in her orbit who believed in her enough to extend trust to her husband. He spun new stories, built new reasons he needed immediate cash, and manipulated everyone around her.
And no one said anything because they assumed she knew, hoped it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, or didn’t want to be the one to destroy her marriage. By the time the truth fully surfaced, he owed her circle more than $300,000. Not $300. Not $3,000. Three. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars. This wasn’t just a lie; it was a full-scale financial landslide.
The vibe of dating in 2025 is already a mix of “trust no one” and “maybe he’s different.” But this story hits on multiple cultural pressure points: The fantasy of the hyper-wealthy man who solves everything, love bombing disguised as luxury, the glamorization of whirlwind relationships, the IG illusion that lavish equals legitimate, and the stigma around questioning a partner’s finances. It also exposes something scarier: scammers don’t always look like scammers. They make you feel chosen, and for Ehie, she finally felt like she had found her person.
The former Bachelor contestant at the center of this didn’t fall for a prince. She fell for a fantasy carefully constructed by a man with deep-rooted addiction issues and a talent for manipulation. And sometimes the scam doesn’t start with taking your money; it starts with spending theirs. It wasn’t stupidity. It was trust, weaponized against her. And honestly? It could happen to far more people than we’d like to admit.
So for next time, Google people, please. Literally just Google them. Olympic records are public. Royal lineages are public. Love bombing does not equal love, and intensity is not intimacy. If someone tells you their money is “tied up,” your Venmo should be locked down. If someone you love starts borrowing money from multiple people, it might just be more than a “favor.” Finally, financial boundaries matter, even in relationships that feel like fairy tales.