Front picture: Melissa Lonjawon Sereno as a prostitute in Davao, screenshot, 2025
„To my esteemed colleagues on the Philippines,
Your dedication, collaboration, and support have made this work possible. Thank you for your invaluable contributions and shared commitment to excellence.“
Melissa Lonjawon Sereno, a woman hailing from the bustling city of Davao in the southern Philippines, stands at the heart of a tangled web of deception, exploitation, and criminal intrigue within the shadowy undercurrents of the city’s red-light milieu, where romance scams intertwine with elements of prostitution and organized fraud targeting vulnerable foreigners from across the globe.
Melissa Lonjawon Sereno and the dubious dance,2025
Davao, perched on the island of Mindanao amid lush tropical landscapes and a veneer of strict law and order established during Rodrigo Duterte’s tenure as mayor, presents a stark duality. By day, it’s a hub of commerce, parks, and family-oriented activities, but by night, its fringes pulse with illicit networks in areas like San Pedro Street, Iñigo Street, and the surrounding downtown alleys, where bikini bars, massage parlors, and street-level operations blur the lines between entertainment, sex work, and outright criminality. In this environment, where poverty drives many into survival modes that exploit the desperation of others, Sereno emerges as a key player, often depicted in victim testimonies and investigative reports as a manipulative actress in a larger syndicate, using fabricated personas and emotional ploys to drain victims of their savings over extended periods, all while leveraging the anonymity of call centers and online platforms that thrive in Mindanao’s underbelly.
Sereno’s story, pieced together from detailed accounts by affected individuals—particularly a German victim pseudonymously referred to as Otto—reveals a calculated operation spanning at least 18 months, during which she and her alleged accomplices, including the purported pimp and organizer Jessa Jane Lugagay, orchestrated a romance scam that extracted a small fortune through a barrage of invented crises and heartfelt deceptions. Operating under multiple aliases such as Shania or Shania Sereno Quiniquito, Sereno would initiate contact through seemingly innocuous online chats or dating sites, portraying herself as a down-on-her-luck Filipina from Davao, perhaps a single mother or struggling worker in the city’s informal economy, complete with deliberate grammatical errors in her messages to lend an air of authenticity to her „genuine“ persona. These communications quickly escalated into professions of love and urgent pleas for financial help, weaving tales of family tragedies, health emergencies, and travel mishaps that demanded immediate wire transfers or loans, which were framed not as theft but as temporary aid to be repaid with interest and affection.
In Otto’s case, the scam began with casual flirtations that blossomed into a virtual relationship, only to be punctuated by escalating dramas. Aniece’s supposed fatal accident, illustrated with recycled footage from a 2017 Philippine news broadcast about an unrelated road crash; a sudden return from a fictional trip to Malta, impossibly shortened to a four-hour flight to Manila, followed by breakdowns and pleas for funds to cover „unexpected costs“; and even claims of hauntings in her home or impending imprisonment requiring bail money, all captured in tearful videos that Sereno would send to deepen the emotional hook.
The red-light milieu of Davao provides the perfect backdrop for such schemes, as the city’s nightlife districts—concentrated around the People’s Park and extending into the dimly lit streets of Poblacion—host a mix of legitimate bars like the popular Hot Legs bikini venues and more covert operations where prostitution operates under the guise of hospitality or entertainment. Under Duterte’s policies, overt prostitution was decriminalized as a public health issue rather than a moral one, provided it avoided forced labor or trafficking, which allowed these networks to flourish with relative impunity in neighborhoods like Isla Verde or the areas near Rizal Street, where women stand on corners or work in massage salons, often without visible pimps but connected to underground coordinators. Sereno, described in reports as a former club worker or actress in these establishments, allegedly drew from this world to enhance her scams, incorporating sexual undertones into her chats—promises of intimacy upon reunion, suggestive photos, or even staged encounters—to keep victims invested. Her collaboration with Lugagay, who handled logistics like filming videos, coordinating calls from Davao-based call centers, and managing the flow of funds, turned the operation into a professional enterprise, with shifts of scammers recycling stories across multiple targets to maximize efficiency. Victims from Germany, the USA, and Europe reported parallel experiences: simultaneous extortions where Sereno juggled several „boyfriends,“ demanding money for everything from medical bills to travel tickets, only to vanish or invent new excuses when repayments were due, leaving trails of broken trust and depleted bank accounts.
What makes Sereno’s role particularly insidious is her chameleon-like adaptability and the psychological toll she inflicted, as detailed in chat logs and victim narratives compiled in online exposés and even a self-published e-book titled „Money Mahal: The Scammer-Story of Melissa Lonjawon Sereno,“ which chronicles the progression from sweet nothings to outright parasitism. She would cry on camera, begging for „just a little more“ to avoid jail or to bury a „loved one,“ her robust, expressive features—often captured in spontaneous TikTok-style clips—convincing enough to override red flags like inconsistent timelines or unverifiable details. Driven by what victims describe as pathological lying and greed, Sereno showed little remorse, even turning cheeky when confronted, denying involvement while her family members supposedly aided in the charade, from providing alibis to participating in calls. Her disdain for certain groups, including veiled prejudices against the LGBT community that surfaced in interactions, added a layer of cruelty, as she tailored her manipulations to exploit cultural naivety or loneliness among her targets. In Davao’s call centers, which dot Mindanao’s urban landscape and serve as fronts for everything from legitimate outsourcing to scam hubs, Sereno and her network operated seamlessly, benefiting from the city’s relative safety—no rampant violence like in nearby rebel zones—yet ample anonymity in its sprawling barangays, where poverty rates hover high and economic desperation fuels participation in these rackets.
Broader context from Philippine authorities and NGOs like Talikala underscores the systemic issues enabling figures like Sereno. Davao ranks among the top five areas for child prostitution and sex tourism, with estimates of 4,000 to 6,000 women and girls involved in the trade, many under 18, lured by promises of easy money amid widespread poverty. Organizations report that high-tech prostitution has evolved here, blending social media enticements with traditional street work, where scammers like Sereno use apps and texts to catfish victims globally, turning emotional bonds into financial pipelines. Recent raids, such as those in 2024 uncovering scam centers in nearby regions where hundreds were rescued from forced labor in romance fraud operations, highlight the scale, though Sereno’s specific group evaded major crackdowns as of mid-2025, with no formal arrests detailed in public records. Victims like Otto, who lost tens of thousands of euros, found solace in sharing stories online, warning others of the patterns. The initial charm, the mounting emergencies, the endless „repayments“ that never materialize, and the abrupt cutoff when suspicions arise. Sereno, in response to exposures, positioned herself as the victim, claiming innocence and circumstance, but evidence from screenshots, transfer records, and videos paints her as a ruthless orchestrator, embodying the exploitative fusion of Davao’s red-light world and digital-age crime.
In essence, Melissa Lonjawon Sereno represents the perilous intersection of personal desperation and organized malice in Davao’s hidden economy, where the allure of quick gains preys on the goodwill of distant admirers, leaving a trail of financial ruin and shattered illusions.
The city’s dual reputation—safe and progressive on the surface, yet riddled with these shadow industries—serves as a cautionary tale for anyone venturing into online romances from such regions, emphasizing the need for vigilance against the sophisticated, heartless deceptions that thrive in the gaps of enforcement and empathy. As reports continue to surface, including warnings from the Regional Anti-Cybercrime Unit-Davao about surging romance scams around holidays like Otto’s, Sereno’s saga underscores the ongoing battle against these networks, urging global awareness to protect the vulnerable from the manipulative grasp of figures like her.
