Celeste Manno came into the world on November 22, 1996, in Italy. Surrounded by her two brothers—Jaden, her older half-brother, and Alessandro, the youngest—Celeste’s early years were spent in Europe before her family moved to Melbourne, Australia. It was there she built her life, chasing big dreams with a heart full of compassion.
After completing high school, she enrolled in university in 2015, choosing to study criminology and psychology. Her curiosity about the human mind was boundless—she aspired to help people by understanding how they think, feel, and behave.
Rising Star at Work and in Life
Once Celeste Manno graduated, she began working at a call center in Mill Park, a suburb in Melbourne. Her charm, empathy, and natural leadership quickly helped her rise through the ranks, eventually earning her a position as team leader.
It was in this very workplace that she met Chris Ridsdale. Their connection was immediate, and a romance blossomed. Chris often gushed about how rare she was—calling her a “true gem.” With her bright smile and infectious energy, Celeste Manno had a way of making everyone around her feel lighter.
She had once been a cheerleader, and her passion for dance remained strong throughout her life. But what truly defined her was her kindness—genuine and unwavering. Her family was her world, especially the deep bond she shared with her mother, Aggie.
After college, Celeste Manno returned to live with her mother in Mernda. Despite being a grown woman, she and Aggie held onto a nightly ritual: Aggie would tuck her daughter into bed, and they’d talk about their day. That was the kind of relationship they had—close, loving, and full of trust.
Celeste had so much to look forward to. She was preparing to celebrate her 24th birthday and enjoying life’s little joys. On November 14, 2020, she and Chris had brunch at a rooftop bar, celebrating the easing of lockdowns. They took smiling photos together, and Celeste Manno even made their relationship Instagram-official with a joyful post.
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The Last “Good Night”
The following day, Sunday, November 15, was peaceful. Celeste Manno spent it lounging at home, planning her birthday with Aggie and enjoying a movie. That night, their bedtime ritual went on as usual. Aggie told her daughter she loved her.
“I love you more. Good night,” Celeste replied.
Those would be her final words.
In the early hours of November 16, around 4:10 AM, the sound of breaking glass shattered the stillness. Aggie awoke in a panic and rushed to her daughter’s room. The scene was a nightmare: Celeste Manno was lying still on her bed, blood everywhere, glass from the broken window scattered across the floor.
Aggie ran to her and tried desperately to wake her up. Just hours before, they were laughing. Now, her daughter was gone.
Emergency services arrived quickly, but it was too late. Celeste Manno had been brutally murdered. The grief-stricken Aggie made a chilling accusation on the spot: “He killed her.”
A Trail of Warnings Ignored
The autopsy revealed Celeste Manno had been stabbed 23 times, primarily in the chest, arms, and stomach. The wounds on her arms told the story of a desperate fight—she had tried to defend herself. Police estimated the attack lasted only about two minutes. Yet Aggie had responded within seconds of hearing the noise. The house was small. The attacker had vanished.
Detectives took Aggie’s words seriously and asked her who she meant. Her answer opened up a dark chapter that authorities had failed to close.
Celeste and Aggie had gone to the police before. They had voiced their concerns. But their warnings had not been heeded.
As investigators dug deeper, they uncovered the name of a man who had once worked with Celeste Manno at the call center: Luay Sako.
Born in Iraq in 1984 to Christian parents, Luay was the eldest of five siblings. His family was granted humanitarian entry into Australia in 1992. Growing up, he was known to be quiet, gentle, and somewhat of a loner.
But behind that quiet demeanor, a dangerous obsession had been building—one that eventually turned deadly.
A Life in Isolation: The Making of a Troubled Man
From a young age, Luay Sako preferred solitude. While other kids were playing outside or forming friendships, Luay was often in his room, disconnected from those around him. As he got older, his isolation deepened. By the time he reached college, Luay had built a world of his own—silent, closed off, and emotionally distant.
He was never in a romantic relationship. Socially withdrawn and increasingly detached, he spent most of his time alone. After finishing his studies, Luay found it difficult to hold a job, remaining unemployed for several years.
That changed in April 2018 when he was hired at a call center in Mill Park, the same place where Celeste Manno had already established herself as a respected team leader. At first, there was nothing unusual—Luay and Celeste were simply coworkers.
But that would change in June 2019. Luay was terminated due to underperformance, and on his final day, Celeste Manno was assigned the routine task of walking him out of the building. She did her job professionally, even offering him a polite handshake as a courtesy.
Luay’s response was unsettling. Rather than shaking her hand, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. The gesture was unexpected, inappropriate—and it made Celeste deeply uncomfortable. Later that day, she told her mother, Aggie, about the incident. Aggie tried to ease her daughter’s concern, suggesting it might have just been an awkward goodbye from someone with a harmless crush.
But it wasn’t harmless at all. That was only the beginning.
From Admiration to Obsession
Soon after his dismissal, Luay began messaging Celeste Manno on Instagram. The tone was intense—he poured out his feelings, saying he couldn’t stop thinking about her, that he couldn’t eat or sleep. He asked if she felt the same.
Celeste Manno responded with kindness but clarity. She thanked him for the compliments, gently told him she wasn’t interested, and then blocked him.
But Luay didn’t take no for an answer.
He began creating fake Instagram accounts to continue contacting her. His messages, once filled with infatuation, quickly turned disturbing. They grew explicit, unsettling, and obsessive. One message, in particular, sent chills down Celeste’s spine:
“Celeste, if you had my body for a day, what would you do to me?”
Celeste responded again—this time firmly.
“Stop contacting me. This is making me very uncomfortable. Please respect my wishes and stop.”
But Luay’s obsession only escalated. He created more fake accounts. He bombarded her with messages. Her mental health began to suffer—sleep became difficult, and her anxiety grew. Her boyfriend, Chris, and her mother could see the toll it was taking on her.
Luay’s tone also began to shift. His final message carried a more sinister weight:
“My impression of you has changed. You’re just like the rest. I’ll dedicate every ounce of my energy to proving my worth to the world. That’s my promise to you—this is my last message.”
It was no longer just infatuation. It felt like a threat.
A Cry for Help That Went Nowhere
After months of torment, Celeste and Aggie went to the police. They explained everything—how he kept contacting her despite being blocked, how he was stalking her, how she feared for her life.
But the officers said their hands were tied. Luay hadn’t made direct threats. No physical harm had been done—yet. They didn’t file a report. They didn’t take his name down. Their only advice? “Just stay off social media.”
It was devastating. The system that was supposed to protect her did nothing.
Without legal support, Celeste Manno had no choice but to keep enduring the harassment. Over the next six months, Luay’s behavior only worsened. He began showing up outside her workplace. He watched her, followed her.
He created over 140 fake accounts just to reach her.
And then, the worst fear came true—he figured out where she lived. He had followed her home.
Celeste Manno confided in a coworker, saying she didn’t feel safe anymore. She was convinced Luay was going to kill her.
And tragically, her instincts were right.
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A Desperate Plea for Protection
Celeste’s fear had grown unbearable—this wasn’t just anxiety anymore. She felt like time was running out. That fear pushed her and her mother to return to the police station, praying that this time, someone would listen.
Finally, they met an officer who did.
He took the situation seriously and advised them to apply for a personal safety intervention order against Luay Sako. They moved quickly to get it in place—and succeeded.
To their surprise, Luay contested the order in court. But the judge denied his objections. For the first time in months, Celeste Manno felt a sliver of relief. Maybe now, she could finally breathe.
But that fragile peace wouldn’t last.
Just three months before her death, on August 15, 2020, Luay reappeared—not in person, but in the form of a three-page handwritten letter.
In it, he begged Celeste Manno to withdraw the order. He promised that if she did, he would vanish from her life. At the end of the letter, he added a smiley face—a twisted and unsettling final touch that made the entire message even more disturbing.
What Luay failed to grasp—or chose to ignore—was that sending the letter was a direct violation of the intervention order.
Celeste reported the breach immediately.
A System That Almost Worked
This time, the police acted.
At the end of August 2020, Luay was arrested for violating the protective order. For a brief moment, it seemed like the justice system was finally doing its job.
But then, he was released the very next day.
Only now, he wasn’t just obsessed—he was enraged.
He couldn’t understand how Celeste Manno could turn him in. In his delusional mind, he believed she owed him something—that she belonged to him.
After his release, Luay’s harassment resumed with even more intensity. His final message to Celeste was equal parts pitiful and alarming:
“I know you rejected me, I get it. I’m like dirt to you, I get it. I know you hate me, I get it.”
Around the same time, he walked into a local store and purchased a hammer and a knife.
Then—he disappeared.
For almost three months, Celeste Manno heard nothing. No messages. No sightings. No signs.
It seemed as though the nightmare was finally over.
But in truth, Luay hadn’t gone away. He had gone quiet—because he was planning.
The Trigger: A Photo Meant for Joy
On November 14, 2020, Celeste Manno posted a smiling photo from a brunch date with her boyfriend, Chris. The picture captured a happy moment—something perfectly ordinary for a young woman in love.
But it reignited something dangerous.
Luay had never stopped watching her. He had continued stalking her Instagram, and when he saw the photo, his obsession snapped back into action.
He knew where she lived—he’d likely figured it out by following her car home. Investigators would later believe he’d even mapped out the layout of her house using visual clues from her posts.
He knew exactly which window was hers.
The Attack: Silent, Swift, Savage
In the early morning hours of November 16, 2020, Luay climbed over the backyard fence of the Manno home. In his hand was the hammer he had bought months earlier.
Just after 4:00 AM, he smashed Celeste’s bedroom window.
The noise woke Aggie immediately. She ran to her daughter’s room—but by the time she got there, Luay had already broken in and launched a brutal, frenzied attack.
Using a knife, he stabbed Celeste 23 times, targeting her chest, stomach, and arms. Investigators later estimated the entire assault lasted less than two minutes.
She didn’t stand a chance.
Luay fled the scene the same way he came in—out through the broken window and over the fence. Blood was later found on both. Not long after, a neighbor’s security camera captured a car speeding away. That car was later confirmed to be his.
When police arrived, they were horrified. And when they spoke to Aggie and learned of the year-long harassment, the scope of the tragedy became clear.
But they didn’t have to search for Luay—he turned himself in.
He walked into a police station with a bleeding hand and calmly told the officer:
“She’s dead. She’s dead. Go have a look. You know what happened. It’s your fault.”
In many ways, it was.
He then tried to provoke the officer into shooting him, as if hoping to end his life along with hers. Instead, he was restrained and taken into custody.
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Evidence of Obsession
Once arrested, Luay’s phone was examined. What they found painted a disturbing picture:
- Hundreds of screenshots of Celeste Manno and Chris
- Images pulled directly from her Instagram
- Google searches for the brunch location where she posted her final happy photo
- And most chilling of all—searches related to the floor plan of Celeste’s home
Everything pointed to one terrifying truth: this had been planned. Patiently. Methodically. And for a very long time.
Despite clear evidence of premeditation, the legal process dragged on for nearly three years. COVID-19 disruptions, endless court delays, and Luay Sako’s manipulative tactics slowed everything down. He played the system—firing attorneys right before scheduled hearings, claiming mental illness, and even attempting to represent himself in court.
Eventually, he pled guilty. But even then, Luay denied the full truth—insisting he had stabbed Celeste Manno only twice, not the 23 times recorded in the coroner’s report.
A Defense Built on Deception
Luay’s legal strategy hinged on mental instability. Court-ordered psychiatric assessments followed. One psychiatrist testified that Luay experienced hallucinations and claimed an imaginary presence named “Isha” had urged him to commit violence.
But even that psychiatrist issued a warning to the court: Luay was manipulative, dangerous, and likely to reoffend—especially around women, even while incarcerated.
In the end, the evidence suggested this wasn’t madness—it was malevolence. He wasn’t lost in a delusion. He was enraged by rejection. In his twisted view, Celeste Manno owed him love, and her refusal became his justification for ending her life.
On February 29, 2024, Luay Sako, then 39 years old, was sentenced to 36 years in prison, with the possibility of parole after 30 years.
The judge cited Luay’s rare personality disorder as a factor preventing a life sentence.
For Celeste’s loved ones, the decision was crushing.
To Aggie, it felt like the legal system had shown Luay a mercy that it had never shown her daughter—not when she first reported the stalking, not when the intervention order was broken, and not when her cries for help were dismissed.
A Family Forever Changed
Celeste’s funeral drew over a hundred mourners—family, friends, and community members grieving a woman whose life had ended far too soon.
Aggie now lives with the daily pain of what will never be: watching her daughter fall in love, walk down the aisle, or become a mother. Jaden and Alessandro, Celeste’s brothers, mourn the sister who once filled their lives with joy, laughter, and light.
That light is now gone.
But from the darkness, Aggie has found purpose.
In the aftermath of sentencing, Aggie launched a public campaign calling for stronger anti-stalking laws and mandatory electronic monitoring for individuals under safety intervention orders.
She believes with all her heart that Celeste Manno might still be alive if those protections had existed.
Aggie made a promise to her daughter: she would never stop fighting. Not just for Celeste Manno—but for every future victim whose warning signs might otherwise be ignored.
A Tragic Wake-Up Call
Celeste Manno’s story is more than a tragedy—it’s a call to action. She did everything right. She blocked her stalker. She asked for help. She filed reports. And yet, the system failed her—again and again.
Too many stalking victims never come forward. Too many believe nothing will change. And far too often, they’re right.
Until real reforms are made, these preventable losses will continue. Stalking remains a crime that is frequently minimized—until it’s too late.
Celeste Manno’s absence is felt every single day by her family. The home she once lit up with laughter is now a space filled with quiet sorrow.
She was kind, bright, loving—and she was killed by someone who refused to accept “no.”
Her story deserves to be remembered, not just in grief, but in change.
Because maybe, just maybe, if someone had listened, she would still be here today.
